


Apartment 143

by idoltina



Category: Glee
Genre: Alcohol, Assault, Blood, Canonical Character Death, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Gen, Ghosts, Haunting, Implied/Referenced Death in Childbirth, Knives, M/M, Mpreg, Murder, Paranormal, Paranormal Investigators, Past Character Death, Possession, Violence, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 21:21:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idoltina/pseuds/idoltina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six years into their marriage, Kurt and Blaine are starting to be established enough in their careers to want to settle down into a more permanent residence. When they happen upon a refurbished apartment in an old building at a price that’s a steal, they immediately snatch it up. They settle into their new home over the summer, and after a fairly intoxicated and intimate Halloween, they find themselves expecting their family to grow by one more. But as the pregnancy progresses, so does the level of paranormal activity in their home. It doesn’t take long for them to bring in paranormal investigators to figure out what inhabits their home, if they can get rid of it, and how to protect themselves and their unborn child from it -- <i>if</i> they can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apartment 143

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** adult language, blood, discussion of previous minor character death (canonical and non-canonical), male pregnancy, paranormal hauntings (including bodily possession), sex, vague references to childbirth and murder, violent use of knives

Apartment 143 is more than they could have ever _dreamed_ of owning. It’s been recently refurbished with hardwood floors and marble countertops and crown moulding. There’s even been a dishwasher and an in-unit washer/dryer installed, and the shower has been fitted with a new showerhead for better water pressure. The floorplan isn’t ideal -- there’s a long hallway that divides the apartment into two, essentially. The living room, dining room, kitchen, and laundry area are all on one side of the hallway, while both bedrooms and bathrooms reside on the other. The apartment is long and thin, for all that it has five rooms, two bathrooms, and a laundering area. It makes living there seem a little cramped, but overall, it’s pleasant, and there are windows all along the side of the common areas, so there’s light, at least. It’s not an ideal place to raise a family, or at least not a family of more than three, but they’re not planning on getting started on that for another three years, at least. It’s plenty of time to baby-proof the apartment.

The second best thing about apartment 143 is the fact that it comes to them at such a ridiculously low price that they can’t _not_ purchase it.

The best thing is that it’s _theirs_.

They close the deal just after Blaine’s school year is done and spend the summer slowly moving in and making the place feel like home. They cover the walls of the common area side of the apartment with photographs of their loved ones. They put the keyboard in the dining room and their marriage certificate in their bedroom. The second bedroom becomes a guest room, technically, but it also doubles as a work space for Blaine to make lesson plans or Kurt to sketch or sew. Neither of them say anything, but they both know that the second bedroom will become a nursery eventually. And if Kurt keeps a mug in there that says _World’s Greatest Dad_ and Blaine tucks away a onesie that says _I love my daddies_ in the closet, well.

They’re thinking about it, at least.

But they’ve only _just_ bought the apartment and they’re still making payments and they want to try and save up as much money as they can before they really start trying. Kurt’s going to be the one making more money out of the two of them, and yeah, Blaine has his trust fund, but they’d really prefer to be smart about their finances as early on as possible, even if they are developing baby fever a little earlier than previously anticipated.

* * * * *

It starts off as something as innocuous as the misplacement of keys. It’s the first day of school, just after Labor Day (and Kurt is so thankful that Blaine teaches kindergarten at a private school, because it means he gets a little more time off and doesn’t have to start school in August, when it’s still technically summer). Blaine is trying not to run late as he bustles through the apartment; he’s trying to make it to campus before seven, if he can, much earlier than Kurt needs to be in the studio. Kurt watches with amusement and sleepy eyes over the rim of his mug of coffee in the kitchen as Blaine tugs on a sweater vest, takes it off, switches it out for a cardigan, and then ends up going back to the sweater vest. He brings in three different offerings of bowties to Kurt (Kurt immediately and gently pushes forward the one with rubber ducks) and drinks his second cup of coffee intermittently as he gets ready for work.

“Okay,” Blaine huffs as Kurt does up the bowtie for him. “Messenger bag, travel mug, birth control, wallet, phone, keys -- where are my keys?”

“They’re probably in the bowl on the table by the front door,” Kurt says patiently, straightening the tie for him. “It’s why we put the bowl there, so we don’t lose them.”

“Right,” Blaine says absently, downing the last of his coffee. “Okay, okay, I need to go.” He presses a smacking, coffee-flavored kiss to Kurt’s lips before snatching his travel mug full of coffee off of the table and dashing into the hallway with the rest of his things. “I’ll see you when you get home!” he calls as he walks down the hallway to the front door. “Seven?”

“Seven,” Kurt calls back. “I’ll bring home takeout. Sushi!”

“Sushi!” Blaine affirms, voice echoing down the hallway. Kurt sighs happily and lifts his mug to his lips, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of coffee. He’s just about to take another sip when Blaine speaks again. “Kurt, they’re not here.”

“What do you mean?”

“My keys, they’re not in the bowl,” Blaine says, voice growing louder as he reappears in the dining room. “Neither are yours.”

Kurt wrinkles his brow, confused. “That’s weird. Maybe you left yours in a pair of pants?”

“Maybe,” Blaine sighs, setting his things down on the dining room table. “I’ll check the laundry room. Can you check the bedrooms for me, just in case?”

“Sure,” Kurt agrees amicably, setting his coffee down and heading to the other side of the apartment. Blaine’s always a little extra stressed right at the beginning and end of the school year, though Kurt really doesn’t understand why. He teaches kindergarten and spends half of his days trying not to get covered in paste. Blaine _loves_ his job, loves being around the kids and making them happy and molding their minds and hearts. They’re a handful, certainly, but Blaine handles them well. Kurt thinks he’s worried about making a good impression, which strikes him as odd considering that Blaine is the teacher in these scenarios.

And, well. It’s good practice for him.

Their keys aren’t to be found in the bedrooms, either, which is a little frustrating, but Blaine is all relieved smiles as they walk back into the kitchen at the same time. “Right in front of our faces,” he laughs, snatching his set of keys off of the counter and leaving Kurt’s behind. He leans in for a second kiss, much slower this time, hands curling around Kurt’s waist, and Kurt can’t help but catch Blaine’s infectious smile when they pull away. “Wish me luck!”

“Go,” Kurt laughs, batting him playfully on the shoulder. “Go charm the pants off of some five-year-olds.”

“They’re really the ones charming the pants off of me,” Blaine argues, winking. He picks up his previously forgotten bagel off of the counter and holds it in his mouth as he picks up his things off of the table. “Love you!” he mumbles almost unintelligibly around his food.

Kurt settles back onto his bar stool at the kitchen counter and lets his mug of coffee warm his hands as Blaine lets the front door click shut behind him. He’s fairly certain that they keys weren’t there a few minutes ago before he left the kitchen for the bedrooms, but he may be wrong about that. He’s still working on his first cup of coffee and it’s barely after six a.m., anyway.

* * * * *

Even after three years teaching, Kurt sometimes forgets how hectic the first half of the school year can be for Blaine. There’s always the adjustment period at the beginning of the school year with everyone getting to know each other and kids who never attended preschool struggling with separation anxiety and back to school night -- and that’s just September. He usually gets a very brief reprieve the first week or two of October (maybe, possibly, kind of), but Blaine is -- has always been -- so much more than what the world requires from him. Blaine isn’t just a kindergarten teacher. He participates in the PTA and is in charge of putting together the yearbook and directs all of the musical performances and pageants over the course of the year.

This year, October means that he’s in charge (or rather, he volunteers to be in charge) of the Halloween carnival, which means organizing the faculty and drawing maps and making decorations and baked goods and caramel apples and buying giant bags upon bags of candy. It means working on at least three costumes (one for school, one for the carnival, and one to partner with Kurt). It means lots of coffee and a forgetful mind and twenty minute power naps with his face nuzzled against Kurt’s belly.

It means that Blaine leaves and comes back immediately almost every morning because he’s forgotten something. The basics are easy, and Kurt could recite them with his husband almost every morning: phone, keys, wallet, jacket, travel mug, messenger bag. But October means Blaine brings a portfolio with him or a bag of arts and crafts supplies or pieces of his costumes or maps or invitations or posters.

Being so busy and stressed out and absent-minded means that Blaine’s mood changes a little for most of the month. He alternates between being completely exhausted and completely high-strung on caffeine, and he gets -- well, he gets _hornier_ , there’s no way around that. Kurt thinks it’s because of the stress; Blaine’s got so much going on that it’s not unreasonable to assume that he needs an outlet to relieve some tension.

Halloween is on a Sunday, which is kind of… terrible, honestly, because it means that they can afford to spend the weekend going to multiple parties of varying degrees of class and leaving anywhere from slightly buzzed to completely warm, giggly, overly-affectionate and handsy, stumbling down the sidewalk drunk.

The latter, of course, falls on Sunday night. They leave Santana’s Halloween party with warm, red faces and bright smiles, make-up starting to smudge and costumes starting to unravel, buttons and zippers coming undone and wrinkles forming. Kurt murmurs and laughs into Blaine’s ear for half of the train ride home and spends the other half sucking hot kisses along the column of Blaine’s throat. Blaine grips his thigh tightly in response, trying not to moan in the half-crowded car. It feels so _good_ to let loose a little and be together like this, uninhibited and affectionate. They haven’t indulged like this in a long time, not since they were engaged and they’d only just started thriving in the city together.

When they finally get back to the apartment, it’s dark and late and they really should just brush their teeth and take some aspirin and drink some water and go to bed. They both have to work in the morning, Blaine much earlier than Kurt, and it’s already going to be a struggle not to have a hangover in the morning. But Kurt can’t keep his hands off of Blaine. He can’t help it. Blaine is warm and tactile and overly-affectionate when he’s drunk, and he has glitter on the sides of his eyes and he can’t seem to stop smiling in Kurt’s direction and Kurt just wants to fuck him into the mattress, _god_. So he resolves, in his still mostly-drunk-addled mind, to do just that. He hastily locks the front door behind them and tosses his keys blindly into the bowl on the table by the door. It takes everything in him not to start stripping right there in the hallway, but he doesn’t want to deal with the mess on top of a hangover in the morning, so he contents himself with starting to undo Blaine’s costume as they stumble to the bedroom at the end of the hall.

Sex rarely ever feels this… erotic and reckless between them. Kurt doesn’t have complaints about their sex life, not at all, but there’s something about tonight -- the abandon, the need, the inability to spare a second thought for anything -- that makes his blood thrum with possibility, and his skin feels alive and buzzing as he claws at Blaine’s clothes. Blaine seems to want it just as much, though he’s a little further gone than Kurt is, content to let Kurt take the lead. He lets Kurt strip him bare and toss him onto the bed, smiling with heavily-lidded eyes as he props himself up on his elbows and watches Kurt undress quickly. Blaine rolls onto his stomach and scoots toward the edge of the bed just as Kurt gets his underwear off, and it’s with a moistening of his lips that Blaine drops his gaze to Kurt’s cock and murmurs “Come here.” Kurt obeys without hesitation and sinks his hands into the loose parts of Blaine’s hair as Blaine’s mouth sinks over his cock, hands sliding back to grab at Kurt’s ass. Blaine’s feet are swaying happily in the air behind him as he sucks Kurt off, and it’s with _such_ affection that Kurt looks down at him and runs a thumb up and over the apple of Blaine’s cheek. Blaine looks up at him through his eyelashes, eyes a little curious and questioning, and the whimper he lets out when Kurt pushes him off isn’t as needy as it usually is.

“On your back,” Kurt instructs, tugging open the nightstand drawer and grabbing the lube. He climbs up onto the bed on hands and knees until he’s hovering over Blaine, both of their chests heaving. “Gonna fuck you into the mattress,” he murmurs. “Gonna fuck you _so hard_ , baby.”

Blaine rockets up for a kiss, drunk, drunk, drunk, he’s so drunk, gasping Kurt’s name into his mouth. He bats at the hand holding the bottle of lube until Kurt gets the message and coats his fingers, pressing two in to start, too impatient to go slow. Blaine grips his shoulder _hard_ and squeezes his eyes shut, but he doesn’t ask to stop, doesn’t safeword, and Kurt works him open, breath hot and damp against Blaine’s ear.

Blaine is always so charming and polite and pleasing to everyone. He goes out of his way to make sure everyone around him is comfortable and happy. He’s all hands on shoulders and warm hugs and beaming smiles, and Kurt loves him for it, most of the time. It’s all heightened when he’s drunk, and he gets extra affectionate and tactile. He can’t seem to stop touching people -- Kurt in particular -- and while seeing Blaine so in love with the world is amusing, it also makes him a little jealous and possessive. And _that_ gets heightened too, when Kurt is drunk. He can’t explain it; there’s something about the way the alcohol gets him to unwind and let go of control that makes him want to assert his claim over his husband. So Kurt gets handsy too, grip tight around Blaine’s waist, words filthy and claiming in his ear.

Blaine always wants to be loved, especially when he’s drunk, and Kurt is more than happy to give it to him.

Blaine belongs to him, and Kurt would do _anything_ to protect him.

“Kurt,” Blaine murmurs, lips brushing against Kurt’s shoulder. “Want you inside, baby, c’mon.”

With as much care as he can muster when he’s this drunk, Kurt withdraws his fingers and digs around in the nightstand drawer again, huffing impatiently when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for. “We’re out of condoms,” he pants, hardly able to focus for how hard he is, damn.

“It’s fine,” Blaine reassures, reaching for him again. “‘m on the pill and you can just pull out, please, baby, _please_ \--”

And with Blaine begging him like that, Kurt can’t find it in him to say no.

So he slicks himself up and burrows under the duvet, settling between Blaine’s legs and pushing his way inside. He loves the way Blaine’s thighs tighten around him in response, loves the way Blaine tosses his head back against the pillow, exposing his throat and groaning loudly. Kurt reaches for one of Blaine’s hands and pins it above their heads, tangling their fingers together. He drops his other hand to Blaine’s waist to anchor himself and leans in for kisses that don’t end as his hips pivot forward, rolling sensually. The duvet slides comfortably against his ass as he thrusts into his husband, and through the haze of alcohol, Kurt almost feels like he’s having an out-of-body experience, watching them from above them bed. The image he gets is almost too much for him and makes him want to get a mirror for the ceiling; he’ll have to remember that, he’ll have to write it down or he’ll forget it when he’s sober. Blaine’s hands grab at Kurt’s back, clawing and scratching and holding on, and he tears his lips away just long enough to murmur “Harder, fuck me _harder_.”

And Kurt obliges, of course he does, because he gives Blaine everything that he has, and he has to fuck harder in order to fuck Blaine into the mattress. So harder, as hard as he can go when he’s this drunk, and his hips pick up speed involuntarily and it normally takes him so _long_ to come when he’s drunk but he can feel his orgasm rush up to the base of his spine like a sudden storm and he’s suddenly just shy of it, barely able to hold off.

“Touch me,” Blaine gasps, fingers trembling as they dance up the back of Kurt’s neck. “Please, Kurt, please, please, ‘m so close --”

Dizzy and intoxicated with want, Kurt pulls back a little and moves his hand from Blaine’s waist to his cock, gripping hard and stroking quickly, twisting when he gets to the head. He knows _just_ how Blaine likes it, just what he needs to come, especially when he’s drunk, and he loses the joke about trick or treating somewhere on this tongue when Blaine spills hot and white over his fist and squeezes around Kurt’s cock and trembles all around him, beyond words.

Kurt licks his hand clean and starts to pull out, too close to even think about staying inside of Blaine any longer, but Blaine grabs at his ass and whines, trying to keep him close. Blaine usually wants Kurt to stay inside after he comes, likes the ache and pressure of Kurt’s hips against him, Kurt’s cock inside of him. He finds it soothing, says it helps him come down, and Kurt is normally happy to oblige. But they don’t -- the condoms, and Blaine’s on the pill, and Kurt’s supposed to --

“Just a little more,” Blaine groans, squeezing Kurt’s ass. “You feel so _good_.”

“Gonna come,” Kurt gasps, propping himself up on his hands. “Blaine, I can’t --”

“Please,” Blaine begs, cupping Kurt’s face in his hands. “Please, I just need -- I just want --” And his cock is softening and he’s not making any sense and he’s so drunk, god, they both are, and Kurt’s toes are curling into the sheets and his blood is thrumming with possibility and he’s about to vibrate out of his skin and --

And all it takes is two gentle pivots of his hips forward for him to come, eyes closed and head lifted to the ceiling. Blaine’s thighs tighten around him and he reaches back to grip the top of the headboard, back arching up off of the bed. “Fuck,” he gasps. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, feels so good.”

Kurt can hardly _move_ after he comes, much less think about pulling out. He collapses on top of Blaine, panting, and rests his cheek against Blaine’s chest, eyes closed. Blaine’s hand comes down to pet at his hair as his breathing starts to even out, too.

In the fog of Kurt’s intoxication and exhaustion and recent orgasm, the beat of Blaine’s heart underneath his ear is enough to anchor him back down to this world and this body and this love.

* * * * *

The morning passes in just as much of a blurry whirlwind as the night before had. They’re messy and sticky and a little hungover, but they deal with it all as quickly as they can -- showers and breakfast and coffee and clothes and aspirin and sheets in the laundry. Blaine looks a little worse for the wear, tired and achey and sensitive to light and sound, but he still has a little glitter around his eyes and it warms Kurt all the way down to his toes.

Blaine belongs to him, and has for a over a decade now, even if they’ve only been married for six years. The glint of Blaine’s wedding band in the morning light and the lingering goodbye kiss he gives Kurt in the morning remind him of that, but there’s something about this morning that feels a little different, a little… more.

“Okay,” Blaine sighs, stifling a yawn. “Jacket, travel mug, messenger bag, phone, wallet, keys -- I think I have everything.”

“Kiss,” Kurt sighs happily, opening his arms and pulling Blaine in close, teetering a little on the bar stool. Blaine obliges without any objection, kissing for much longer than he normally does. He rests his forehead against Kurt’s when he pulls away, and he smells like soap and coffee and and autumn. “Happy November,” Kurt murmurs, brushing his fingers against the hair at the nape of Blaine’s neck.

“Happy November,” Blaine mumbles back, leaning in for another kiss. “Italian tonight?”

“Italian,” Kurt affirms. “There’s chicken thawed in the fridge.”

“Thank you,” Blaine sighs, nuzzling against Kurt’s neck. “Especially for last night. I’m going to feel that all day.”

Kurt smiles against his skin. “Mmm, how about you thank me by picking up more condoms on the way home? It was your turn to buy them, anyway.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Blaine sighs, pulling back. “Things have been kind of crazy lately, I just forgot.”

“Thanksgiving is only four weeks away,” Kurt reminds him, rubbing at Blaine’s arm soothingly. “We’ll both go back to Ohio and actually relax, okay?”

“And then it’ll get crazy again,” Blaine groans, dropping his forehead against Kurt’s shoulder. “We’re hardly going to have a Christmas, you’re going to be working so much.”

“I have deadlines to make in February,” Kurt reminds him. “And our families are coming here for Christmas. It’ll be fine. You’ll get two weeks off. I’ll get a few days --”

“Not enough,” Blaine mumbles, mouthing at Kurt’s neck.

“Oh my god, go to work,” Kurt laughs, pushing him back. “I still have time to get over this hangover before I have to leave.”

“Lucky,” Blaine grumbles.

“I’ll make it up to you after dinner tonight,” Kurt promises. “Back rub.”

Blaine looks up hopefully. “And couch sex?”

“ _Go_ ,” Kurt chuckles, shoving at Blaine’s shoulder playfully. Blaine laughs and gathers up his things, pausing at the doorway just outside of the dining room to look over his shoulder and arch his eyebrows hopefully. Kurt lifts his mug to his lips and smiles bemusedly over it. “We’ll see.”

But when Blaine leaves and the door clicks shut behind him, Kurt can’t help but feel like they’ve forgotten something.

* * * * *

Blaine doesn’t get sick until after Thanksgiving.

It’s the Monday after, the first day they’re due back at work, and absolutely nothing goes according to plan.

Sunday goes just fine; they catch their flight on time and arrive home mid-afternoon, giving them enough time to unpack and clean up and get ready for work the following day without being rushed or stressed. They even have enough time to curl up together on the couch and catch up on some of their DVR before bed, and it’s with comfort and familiarity and warmth that they bump hips and shoulders against each other in the bathroom while they get ready for bed. Kurt falls asleep to the gentle sound of Blaine’s breathing, an arm slung around his waist.

He wakes much earlier than he’s ready for to the feeling of being jostled in bed, and he can barely do more than blink sleepily into half-awareness before Blaine is throwing the covers off and bolting for the bathroom. Kurt rubs at his eyes and looks blearily over at the clock on the nightstand -- two in the morning, god -- just as the lid of the toilet seat clatters noisily and Blaine retches into it.

Pushing past his exhaustion and focusing on his concern, Kurt pushes himself out of bed and pads over to the bathroom doorway, wincing a little as Blaine vomits into the toilet again. “Oh, honey. Something you ate, maybe?”

“Can’t be,” Blaine gasps, gripping the edge of the toilet tightly. “We’ve had the same three meals every day for the last week, and you’re fine. I don’t --” Again, he throws up, hands trembling a little against the side of the toilet.

Kurt enters the bathroom and sinks down onto the floor next to his husband, rubbing at his back soothingly. “Probably just a bug,” he murmurs. “I’ll bring you some water from the kitchen, okay?”

Kurt yawns noisily as he makes his way into the kitchen, flicking on lights as he goes. He pulls a glass down from the cabinet before turning to grab the water fliter out of the fridge. He turns back around, pitcher in hand, and --

The glass is gone.

Kurt blinks rapidly and rubs at his eyes. He pulled it down. He’s sure he pulled it down.

...It’s two in the morning and they just got back from vacation and they have to go to work in a matter of hours and Kurt is _tired_. His brain isn’t working at full capacity right now. He probably thought that he needed to pull a glass down from the cabinet without actually doing it.

He grabs a glass from the cabinet and fills it before putting the water filter back in the fridge, and with the glass full in his hand, he makes his way back to the bedroom, shutting off lights along the way. Blaine is back in bed when he gets there, and as Kurt sets the glass on the nightstand, he can smell the cinnamon of the toothpaste on Blaine’s breath. “Feel any better?”

Blaine nods and gratefully takes the water, guzzling down about a third of it before setting the glass back down. “Yeah,” he sighs, snuggling back under the covers, “I think I’ll be okay.”

Kurt takes his own place back in bed beside Blaine, and with their fingers tangled and Kurt’s breath on the back of Blaine’s neck, together, they drift back into sleep.

* * * * *

The thing is, Blaine isn’t better. He gets up at least four more times that night to throw up, and Kurt ends up calling in sick for him. Kurt almost takes the day off himself, but Blaine dismisses the idea with a wave of his hand and a request for ginger ale and saltine crackers before Kurt leaves for work. And again, always, Kurt is happy to obliged, because Blaine is his to protect and take care of and love. When Kurt gets home that night, Blaine is in the living room. There’s color in his face again and he looks like himself, and Kurt convinces himself that he’d been right about it being a bug. Blaine doesn’t disagree, and when they crawl into bed on Monday, they both have plans to go to work on Tuesday.

But that night goes much the same as the previous night did, and Blaine just barely manages to drag himself to work. He looks a little more tired and a little less colorful when Kurt gets home Tuesday night, but again, Blaine claims to be feeling mostly better, so Kurt tries not to worry about it.

The third night in a row is what convinces Kurt that this isn’t just a bug, and it’s with extreme reluctance and a lof complaining on Blaine’s part that there’s an appointment made with a doctor later in the week to find out what’s going on. Blaine’s placing his bet on stomach flu, which Kurt thinks is probably reasonable, but still, he’s worried enough at the constant heaving Blaine is doing at night to want to look into it.

At the end of November, Blaine has been sick for an entire week, but he’s also been to see a physician and has given culture and blood and urine samples to be tested. Blaine grumbles about wasting money even if they have good insurance, because the doctor had told him what he’d already suspected, which is that it was most likely some sort of stomach flu that Blaine would just have to ride out.

December doesn’t start out any better than November had ended, and while they wait for results and struggle through their work days and sleepless nights, Blaine just seems to get worse. His nausea and vomiting is accompanied by severe trembling and sweating now. Kurt can’t bring himself to try and sleep through it, even though he’s losing so much sleep. He can’t stand the idea of Blaine suffering that much alone, so he grabs his bathrobe off of the back of the bathroom door and spends half of his nights curled up on the bathroom floor next to his sick husband.

It’s the sweating that confuses Kurt a little. Blaine always gets up at two every morning like clockwork, and it’s _freezing_ in the apartment at that time. At first, it seems logical. Winter is approaching and they live in New York and the apartment is old. But the apartment is also refurbished and they have a good heating system, so Kurt takes to turning it on as soon as Blaine gets up. But it doesn’t help; the apartment stays freezing cold even with the heater on. Kurt scribbles an untidy note in the middle of the night to see if anything can be done about it. But Blaine -- Blaine doesn’t seem to feel the cold. He shivers, to be sure, but he sweats and shakes and is warm to the touch. Kurt supposes that the sickness is to blame.

And then, abruptly, a week into December, Blaine starts feeling better. He’s still a little sick and gaunt, uneasy on his feet and occasionally nauseous, but he vomits a lot less and seems a little less tired overall. He kisses Kurt’s concern quiet but agrees to checking in once more with a doctor to get the results of his tests and to make sure he’s okay.

It’s the first time in a long time that Kurt feels powerless to help him.

It won’t be the last.

* * * * *

December is covered in white flurries and filled with long work hours for Kurt. Blaine has the last two weeks of the month off and doesn’t have to be back at work until January third, something Kurt finds himself grateful for. Blaine needs the time off, needs the rest, even if he is feeling mostly better. It’s just -- Kurt doesn’t like not knowing what was wrong with him, not with the previous illnesses and deaths in his family. He doesn’t like not being in control. He doesn’t like not having a solution. He doesn’t like not being able to help his husband. It makes him feel listless and a little bit like a failure, but he doesn’t voice any of this to Blaine.

The week of Christmas, Kurt only has to work Monday and Tuesday and half of Wednesday before their families are in town. They don’t really have the space to comfortably host four parents and Cooper, so everyone’s staying at a nearby hotel for a few days. Still, Kurt and Blaine are both looking forward to it even though they’ve just seen everyone at Thanksgiving. For Kurt, it’s an opportunity to take a few days off in the midst of all of the chaos of preparing for Fashion Week February. For Blaine, it’s people and voices and love to fill their apartment with warmth when he would otherwise be mostly alone.

And, if Kurt’s being honest, it means a couple of extra people around to keep an eye on Blaine and take care of him in case he gets really sick again.

It’s on the twentieth, the Monday the week of Christmas, that changes everything.

Kurt bustles into the apartment a little later than he normally would, out of the cold and dark and into the warmth and light. The heat’s working just fine, which is nice when he walks in the door in the dead of winter, and if they go to bed wearing multiple layers and cover themselves in several blankets and leave the heat on, everything is fine. But…

Kurt’s woken up at two in the morning a few times, suddenly awake, and found himself absolutely freezing. He’s checked the thermostat a few times when it’s happened only to find it still working, and if he’s awake longer than a half hour, he can easily fall back asleep after two-thirty, when the cold is suddenly gone.

But it’s far from Kurt’s mind tonight as he peels off his layers and hangs his coat and scarf and gloves by the front door, dropping his keys in the bowl on the table. He toes off his shoes and makes a mental note to pick everything up later, when they’re not covered in snow, and heads down the hallway to the right side of the apartment. But Blaine isn’t there -- he’s not in the living room or the dining room or the kitchen. So Kurt checks the second bedroom and bathroom, but still, nothing, so he goes to the only place left -- their bedroom.

He finds Blaine sitting at the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.

He looks _terrified_.

“Honey?” Kurt ventures tentatively. Blaine inhales sharply but doesn’t look up. “What’s wrong?”

Blaine rocks a little, hands gripping the edge of the bed. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he says, slow and hesitant, “but you have to promise me you won’t get mad.”

And there it is again, the freezing cold that seeps into his bones at two in the morning, but it’s eight o’clock and the heat is on and oh _god_ , Kurt feels like he’s in Battery Park all over again and he can’t _breathe_ and --

“Oh, god, honey, _no_ ,” Blaine rushes to explain, focusing Kurt. “It’s not what you think. It’s not like that.” Kurt exhales slowly, warmth returning to his toes, and Blaine pats the empty space on the bed next to him. “Come sit.” Kurt approaches the bed, a little cautious, and sinks down next to his husband before crossing his legs. Blaine rubs his palms against his thighs, a nervous habit, and Kurt softens a little. Whatever’s bothering Blaine is clearly something he thinks Kurt will get upset with him for, and Kurt -- he can’t do that. He can’t, because that’s what he used to do, and it played a huge part in destroying them. Things are different now -- they have been for a long time, and he has to approach this the way he’s approached Blaine’s health the last month. He has to give Blaine the opportunity to get whatever’s bothering him off of his chest. He has to _listen_ , and he has to think about Blaine, first. Because --

What if this _is_ about Blaine’s health? He wasn’t supposed to have his follow-up appointment until tomorrow, but what if that changed? What if Blaine isn’t better? What if he’s sick? What if --

Kurt inhales sharply and reaches for one of Blaine’s hands to anchor himself. “Just… tell me.”

“I was cleaning out my messenger bag this morning,” Blaine begins quietly, “you know, since I’m on vacation and everything. And, at the bottom, I found… this.” He picks something up from his other side and hands it to Kurt, hand twitching in Kurt’s grasp.

It’s Blaine’s packet of birth control pills, but there are only seven missing from it, which isn’t right, not this late in the month. “Oh,” Kurt says faintly, “so, what -- you’re a little behind?”

Blaine fidgets uncomfortably and pulls his hand away, dropping his gaze back to the floor. “A lot behind, actually,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper.

“How behind?”

“Eleven weeks,” Blaine says thickly.

“ _Eleven_ \--”

“I’m sorry!” Blaine gasps, getting up and starting to pace the floor of the bedroom. “I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear. I just -- I took them the whole first week of October and then I just got so busy at work and I was stressed out and kept forgetting things and I just -- I just --”

“Forgot,” Kurt supplies quietly. “For eleven weeks.”

“It’s never been like this,” Blaine defends. “I’ve been taking the pill since I was thirteen, but I’ve never been this _busy_ before. It’s not like I didn’t have the packet with me. It was in the bottom of my bag. I just -- I forgot to take it one morning early in October and then I kept forgetting. And then November came and I forgot to pick up my new prescription and then it was Thanksgiving and then I got sick and I -- I just --”

“Hey, hey, okay, come here,” Kurt cuts in, patting the recently vacated spot next to him. Blaine sinks down next to him and clasps his hands together, head hung and eyes trained on the floor. “It’s okay -- I just don’t understand why you’re so upset about this,” he says, angling his legs so they brush against Blaine’s. “You can just go pick up your prescriptions and start taking them again, can’t you?”

“No,” Blaine mumbles. “I don’t think I can.”

“Why not?”

Blaine looks up at him slowly, apprehension written all into the lines of his face. “Halloween. We didn’t use a condom.”

Kurt’s brow wrinkles in confusion. “What does that have to do with -- oh,” he breathes, eyes widening a little once he grasps Blaine’s meaning. “ _Oh._ ”

Blaine swallows audibly and glances over at the bathroom. “I took a pregnancy test just before you got home.”

Kurt holds his breath. “And?”

“I haven’t checked yet,” Blaine laughs dryly. “But I -- look, Kurt, I know this is a little earlier than we wanted to start trying. I know we wanted to be a little more secure financially so I could take a year or two off and stay at home. And I know -- god, I know how important this February is to you. I know it affects your schedule and our finances for at least the next _year_ , but --”

“Oh, you think I’m upset,” Kurt says wetly. “Blaine, _no_. I’m not -- it’s a little earlier than we planned, but I’m not upset. It’s not like I don’t want this.”

All of the tension seems to melt out of Blaine’s body, and Kurt can see the beginnings of a hopeful smile at the corner’s of his husband’s mouth. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Kurt laughs, looking down at his lap. “I know about the onesie in the office. I don’t know how you’ve held out this long. You’re around kids all the time.”

“It’s not easy.”

“Tell me about it,” Kurt breathes. “I feel like there have been babies everywhere I turn since _April_.”

Blaine’s hand comes to rest gently atop Kurt’s, causing Kurt to look back up at him. “So we’re really doing this?” Blaine asks, voice breaking a little. “We’re -- if I’m actually pregnant, we’re going through with it?”

Kurt offers him a warm smile and squeezes his hand. “I want to if you do.”

Blaine exhales, long and slow, and _there’s_ the smile Kurts been waiting for. Blaine so clearly wants to be excited about this, and he’d been worried that Kurt wouldn’t be, that Kurt wouldn’t want this or that he’d be upset or think Blaine had tricked him into it or something. He thinks he can understand where Blaine was coming from, but there is such love, such trust between them, such _devotion_.

And oh, there’s that surge of fierce protectiveness again.

Blaine might be pregnant. He might be carrying Kurt’s child.

It hits Kurt like a truck in that moment, the reality of the situation, and he feels like he can hardly breathe as Blaine gets up to check the test in the bathroom. The house is quiet except for the distant hum of the heater, and when Blaine finally reappears in the doorway of the bathroom, Kurt can see the hope in his eyes. “Positive.”

Kurt’s breath comes out all in a rush. “Positive,” he echoes softly.

“We can’t -- we can’t get ahead of ourselves,” Blaine says, clearly talking to himself as much as Kurt. “I still have my follow-up tomorrow. I can have it confirmed or denied then.”

“Right, okay,” Kurt says, wiping at his eyes a little.

Blaine sits down next to him again, pressing a kiss to Kurt’s cheek and tangling their fingers together before resting his head against Kurt’s shoulder. “If I’m -- if this is really happening, we’ll have to convert the second bedroom into a nursery.”

Kurt indulges himself in a smile. “We’ll have to come up with some design ideas, create a theme.”

Another kiss, this time to Kurt’s neck. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Kurt sighs, tugging him close. “I -- oh!” He pulls back a little and looks down at Blaine. “Our families are going to be here on Wednesday. Are we -- if you’re actually -- are we saying anything?”

Blaine bites his lip and looks down at their hands. “I don’t know,” he says. “I -- there’s so much I need to research and I’ll probably have to take a bunch of medication, but I know that most women usually wait until after the first trimester before they say anything. There’s less of a chance of miscarriage after twelve weeks.”

“You’re not most women,” Kurt teases.

Blaine nudges him playfully. “It’s different for carriers. I mean, I don’t know everything, but I know that all of the risks are higher, which probably means that the chances of miscarriage are higher for longer.”

“So I’ll take that as a no, then,” Kurt surmises.

“No,” Blaine says, sitting up a little. “If I’m… pregnant, we should just… tell them while they’re here. I know it’ll be early and we’ll still be trying to figure stuff out, but I don’t want to tell our families the news over the phone, Kurt, and you’ll be so busy after they leave.”

“Okay,” Kurt agrees, wrapping his arms around Blaine a little tighter. “It would definitely be a holiday to remember.”

* * * * *

Kurt comes home Tuesday evening to silence again, but this time, there’s an envelope with his name scrawled across the front in Blaine’s tidy script waiting for him on the dining room table.

Inside is a small black and white photograph of an ultrasound with _Anderson-Hummel, Blaine D_ written in the top left corner, right above _6w5d_.

Blaine _is_ pregnant.

That’s their _baby_.

Well, technically, it’s a fetus, but -- “Merry Christmas, Kurt.”

Kurt whirls around at the sound of Blaine’s voice, heart beating triple time and tears spilling onto his face. It takes approximately two and a half seconds for Kurt to close the distance between them and throw his arms around his husband, ultrasound clutched tightly in his hand. “Christmas isn’t until Friday,” he says wetly, and oh god, why is he crying so much? Why is he crying so much when he’s this happy?

“Honey,” Blaine laughs warmly, returning the embrace and anchoring a hand on the back of Kurt’s head. “I’m okay. It’s okay, I --” He pulls back a little, but Kurt can hardly stand to let go of him (oh god, how is he supposed to ever let Blaine out of his sight ever again), so they stand there together in the doorway between the dining room and the hallway, tangled up in each other’s arms. “I have medication for the nausea now, and I’m taking prenatals and I’m seeing a specialist and I’ve got _lots _of packets and pamphlets for us to go over together and -- okay, I have to do some hormone replacement, but the injections get sent right here to the apartment and our insurance actually covers a decent amount of this since I’ve been listed as a carrier from the beginning and --”__

__“-- and you’re pregnant,” Kurt laughs, kissing him full on the mouth. “Oh my god, we’re having a baby.”_ _

__“We’re having a baby,” Blaine affirms, grinning, and Kurt can feel how happy Blaine is when they embrace again, arms tight and loving around each other._ _

__Something twists in Kurt’s stomach for a moment, and again, he finds himself feeling oddly protective. He knows that Blaine will have a limit with that, will only allow Kurt to go so far, but Kurt can hardly keep his skin together because of how much he wants this, wants Blaine and this baby and for everything to be _okay_. Inherently, Kurt knows that this is risky. Yes, they have a lot of research and reading to do, but on a basic level, Kurt knows that carrier pregnancies are always more risky. There’s a lot more medication involved and constant check-ups and more acute symptoms. Beyond that, though, Kurt knows that this isn’t going to be easy on an emotional level. Successful male pregnancies are still barely thirty years old, and they still encounter the same sort of stigma that so much else has before them. Kurt knows what it’s like to meet resistance and judgement -- they _both_ do. Kurt doesn’t want that for Blaine, doesn’t want his husband to be subjected to ogling eyes and scathing remarks and disgusted noises. He doesn’t want Blaine to experience any more hate than he already has, and he definitely wants to protect their child from it as much as he can, at least this early on._ _

__Kurt tightens his hold around Blaine and grips the ultrasound a little tighter in his hand. “I promise I am going to take _such_ good care of you.”_ _

____

* * * * *

By the time Blaine hits the end of his first trimester at the end of January, life seems even more chaotic than before, at least for Kurt. Blaine’s work, at least, isn’t quite so busy or stressful, which is good for both him and the baby. Kurt’s work, however, just gets busier with multiple fashion weeks looming over his studio. It means a lot of long hours and late nights and aching hearts, because while there’s not a whole lot going on this early on in Blaine’s pregnancy, Kurt still doesn’t want to be missing any of it. By twelve weeks, Blaine is starting to feel a little better and is also starting to show, and Kurt makes sure that he kisses both his husband and child goodnight and good morning. The hours and stress of work means that they don’t see a lot of each other for a good portion of January, and when they do see each other, they generally alternate between talking -- catching each other up on what the other has missed -- and having sex, which Blaine seems to want more of with each week.

It’s a lot, and Kurt’s harried and frazzled and stressed and worried, and he thinks that’s only adding to his hallucinations. It’s like now that it’s starting to be obvious that Blaine is pregnant, the strange occurrences in their apartment start to become more frequent. The cold extends beyond two in the morning at times (though, admittedly, Kurt doesn’t experience this much because he’s hardly home), and things seem to fall off of desks and tables and counters more often than is normal. Kurt attributes it all to exhaustion -- he didn’t drop the keys in the bowl like he thought, he must have placed the book closer to the edge of the table instead of toward the center. Blaine hasn’t seemed to notice anything odd, or if he has, he hasn’t voiced any concerns. For the most part, Blaine seems _happy_ , and even though Kurt is busy and tired and overworked, seeing his husband happy makes him happy, too.

* * * * *

It’s when New York Fashion Week hits and Blaine is at fourteen weeks that Kurt starts to feel uneasy.

Again, he feels like he could contribute it to the stress, but he’s set out a schedule that allows him to be home with Blaine for at least an hour of uninterrupted time so that he doesn’t totally lose it. But throughout the week, Kurt notices things. On Monday, it’s the lights in the entire apartment flickering when there isn’t even a storm outside. On Thursday, it’s the television signal flickering out into a black and white static for a few minutes while they lounge on the couch together (Blaine’s nose is buried in a baby book when it happens, and it’s then that Kurt learns that their baby is the size of a lemon, now).

But it’s not until Friday that he starts to seriously question his sanity, and again, it comes at two in the morning, when the apartment is dead cold. He’d been out later than he wanted the night before (mostly because he knows he’ll be out _really_ late on Friday night, and two nights back to back are going to knock him down, he knows it). So when he wakes up at two a.m. and drags himself to the bathroom to pee, he can barely keep his eyes open even in the freezing cold. When he’s finished, he washes his hands in the sink and then splashes some water on his face to feel a little less like death. He reaches for the hand towel, pats his face dry, looks up at his reflection in the mirror, and --

That’s not his reflection.

That’s not his reflection at _all_.

Heart stopped and ice cold, Kurt whirls around, dropping the towel onto the counter, but there’s no one there. Back to the mirror, and he only sees himself, now. But he could have _sworn_ there was a woman in the mirror a second ago.

He closes his eyes and tries to remember how to breathe. He’s exhausted. It’s two in the morning. He just needs to curl up around Blaine and go back to sleep.

Still, he feels uneasy as he walks back to bed, like someone is watching him or following him. It’s stupid, he knows that, but he can’t shake the feeling. Instinctively, he presses his body against Blaine’s and wraps an arm around him, hand resting gently against Blaine’s slightly protruding belly.

Kurt doesn’t fall asleep until after four.

Blaine clucks at him in disapproval in the morning and makes sure to press concealer into Kurt’s hand and a kiss to his lips before heading out the door.

But even with Blaine gone, Kurt still gets the distinct feeling that he’s not alone in the apartment.

* * * * *

Kurt has a week between New York fashion week and Paris fashion week, but he’s still super busy the entire week. There are mistakes to correct and projects to finish and packing to do -- _packing_ , god what does he even pack to for fashion week in Paris? He hasn’t been to Paris since their honeymoon. Then, he’d been able to relax and really enjoy the city and being a newlywed. Now, he’s going for work, and yes, he gets to get lost in the world of fashion, but he’ll also be _working_ and a little stressed out and hoping for the best. And he‘ll be away from Blaine, from his pregnant husband, and it’s all just a little… much. So while Kurt is busy in that week in between, he’s also hoping to relax and enjoy Blaine’s company a little bit.

And when he walks into the apartment on Monday night, he’s able to do just that.

For all that they’ve known each other for eleven years, Kurt sometimes forgets just how well they know each other, just how well Blaine knows _him_. He forgets how so on the same page they are most of the time -- especially since they’d gotten back together so many years ago. And he forgets how Blaine knows exactly what he needs and goes above and beyond that.

It’s why, when he walks into the apartment on Monday night, instead of just a warm meal and a comforting hug, there’s a romantic, candlelit dinner set up in the dining room and a bouquet of flowers and a husband who has at least put on a blazer for the occasion since his suits aren’t fitting quite the same way they used to now that he’s hit fifteen weeks.

It’s why the night off isn’t just a night off.

It’s Valentine’s Day.

“I love you,” Kurt sighs, crossing the room to take the flowers from his husband. He buries his nose in the roses as Blaine stands up on tiptoe to plant a kiss to Kurt’s forehead. “I forgot -- I’m sorry, I’ve just been so busy lately, and --”

Blaine takes the bouquet from him to set it down on the table before cradling Kurt’s head in his hands and kissing him quiet. “You’re talking to the guy who forgot to take birth control for close to three months, Kurt. Believe me when I say I’m not offended that you forgot it was Valentine’s Day. Honestly, I’m kind of surprised I remembered with the way the baby’s been affecting my memory.”

Kurt hums happily and drapes his arms over Blaine’s shoulders and around his neck, pressing in close. His stomach does a little flip-flop when Blaine’s growing belly presses against him, and it’s all Kurt can do to keep his hands where they are. He’s going to miss this so _much_ while he’s in Paris next week. “But you didn’t forget,” he points out. “Although, I’m kind of surprised you’re trying to sneak some wine while you’re pregnant,” he adds, glancing over at the tall bottle in the center of the dining room table.

“It’s not for me,” Blaine laughs, nudging Kurt’s nose with his own. “It’s for you. I figured you could use it.”

“The whole bottle? I don’t know,” Kurt muses. “Remember what happened the last time I got really drunk?”

“I’m already pregnant, and you don’t have to drink it all tonight,” Blaine says dryly. “It’s a really good red wine. Try and savor it. Make it last a little while -- mmph.” His words get lost against Kurt’s lips as they kiss again, and this time, Kurt lets one of his hands slide down to rest over the slight swell of Blaine’s belly. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to make it through dinner and dessert before taking Blaine to the bedroom and having his way with him, but --

There’s a too-loud clunk next to them that causes them to break apart, and it’s with confusion and a little panic that they both look at the bottle of wine, now tipped over and pouring onto the floor. Blaine springs into action much more quickly, moving around the liquid pooling at their feet to set the bottle upright again. “Must’ve been unstable,” he mutters, running into the kitchen to grab some towels. Kurt steps aside to let Blaine clean up the mess (and he has to push down the swell of protectiveness in his chest that rises up because just because Blaine is pregnant does not mean he’s incapable of doing anything).

The thing is, Kurt knows that bottle was in the center of the table. On a flat surface. It was nowhere near the edge of the table. It wasn’t in a precarious position. There’s no logical or feasible way that it couldn’t fallen over without the assistance of an outside force.

Kurt shivers and shakes his head and tries to ignore it. He reaches for the bottle -- now only half full -- and pours himself a large glass.

He has the feeling he’s going to need it.

* * * * *

Paris is… _wonderful_ , but it’s also very, very lonely. Kurt has work to keep him busy during the day and most of the evenings, but the nights -- the nights are usually the worst. He’s over 3,600 miles away from his husband and in a totally different time zone and it’s difficult to schedule time to talk when Kurt is six hours ahead. The only time they can manage to make work every day that Kurt is gone is during Blaine’s breakfast and Kurt’s lunch. For Kurt, it’s an echo of when he’d first moved to New York and struggled with making time for their lunchtime phone calls. He’s made such an effort to do better since they’ve been back together, every time they’ve been apart. When they’re together in the city, they do lunchtime texts instead, because they’re often busy and they know they’ll see each other when they climb into bed at night anyway.

But here, now, in Paris, this breakfast/lunch date is all Kurt has with him, and in the midst of all of the chaos, Kurt will take what he can get.

He pokes idly at his food while he waits for Blaine to pick up the phone, and he’s treated to the sound of his husband yawning adorably into the phone as he answers with a sleepy _hello_?

“I’m surprised you’re not awake yet,” Kurt teases, setting his fork down and relaxing in his iron-wrought chair with a smile.

“I’ve been awake,” Blaine mumbles. “I can’t have caffeine anymore. I’m still adjusting.”

“Four months into your pregnancy?”

“Shhh, baby’s taking all of my energy,” Blaine grumbles. “What’s for lunch?”

“Salmon,” Kurt says.

“Taking advantage of not having to eat with your pregnant husband, I see,” Blaine teases.

“Oh hush,” Kurt dismisses. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Eggs,” Blaine mumbles around a mouthful of food. “Toast with honey. Fruit.”

“How many eggs are you up to?” Kurt asks, running his thumb over his wedding band.

“ _Five_ ,” Blaine groans. “I know this is normal, but can you imagine if this baby makes me eat an entire dozen in one sitting by the end of my pregnancy?”

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine,” Kurt soothes. He hesitates for a moment, fingers tracing swirling shapes in the condensation of his glass before he continues. “How _are_ you doing?” he asks quietly.

“Fine,” Blaine yawns again. “Just a little tired. I keep waking up at like, two every night, and I can’t go back to sleep for at least a half hour because it’s freezing.”

“Every night?” Kurt asks, as casually as he can.

“Every night,” Blaine affirms with a sigh. Kurt can hear him clearing dishes into the sink in the background. “It’s weird -- I almost never wake up when you’re here. I guess I’m just used to having your body with me in bed at night.” It’s Blaine’s turn to pause, this time, and when he speaks again, his voice is so gentle that it breaks Kurt’s heart. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” Kurt breathes, ducking his head down in an attempt not to cry. “This week has been really great, if busy, but I just -- I miss being at home with you. I don’t like leaving you alone.”

“We’re doing okay,” Blaine assures him.

“Speaking on behalf of the baby?” Kurt laughs, wiping at his eyes a little.

“Sort of?” Blaine answers. “I mean, I can kind of feel it moving, so --”

“You _can_?” Kurt gasps, sitting upright again.

“Just a little,” Blaine confirms. “It’s not much -- just sort of like, I don’t know, fluttering or something. I don’t think it’s anything you’d be able to feel yet.”

“Still,” Kurt says softly, sinking against the back of his chair. “I hate that I’m not there.”

“Don’t,” Blaine insists, sounding close to tears himself. “You need to be in Paris right now, Kurt. You’re going to be the one bringing home the bacon when this baby comes. Oh god, bacon, that sounds so good right now.”

“Are you even dressed yet?” Kurt pries, amused.

“ _Yes_ ,” Blaine says plaintively. “I have time for bacon.”

“You don’t,” Kurt argues. “Not unless you take it with you to eat on the train -- oh god, that’s what you’re going to do, isn’t it?”

“It’s not that different from bringing my lunch,” Blaine defends. “And it’s not like I’m eating standing up, Kurt. I’m pregnant, now, people have the common courtesy to let me sit down on the subway.”

Kurt’s mouth twitches into a smile at the information, that people are being _kind_ to his pregnant husband. It warms him all the way down to his toes even though it’s cold outside, but it just makes his heart ache more with how much he _misses_ Blaine. “What have I missed since yesterday?” he asks, pushing his plate aside to reach for his sketch pad and pencils.

“Not much,” Blaine sighs. “Work’s pretty much the same. The power went out last night around eight, some sort of surge or something. Santana and Rachel and Sam came over to keep me company until things got sorted out. Power was back on by like, eleven-thirty, I think.”

“That’s odd,” Kurt remarks, relaxing a little at the thought of their friends being there to keep an eye on Blaine while he’s away. “It’s not supposed to be storming there until late next week, right?”

“According to the weather report,” Blaine affirms. “It was kind of weird, but we had plenty of candles and flashlights and everything, so I wasn’t too worried. The apartment was a little creepy in the dark before they got here, though.”

“You could probably still ask one of them to stay with you, if you wanted, you know,” Kurt reminds him.

“I know, but I promise, we’re doing just fine -- oh,” Blaine chuckles.

“What?”

“Baby says hello,” Blaine says, and Kurt can practically _hear_ his smile through the phone. “Still just sort of a flutter, but it was stronger than it has been all week.”

“Well, tell baby hello back for me,” Kurt drawls, unable to wipe the grin off of his face.

“I don’t think it can really hear yet,” Blaine laughs. “But I’m pretty sure it can feel certain things. If I just press hard enough --”

“Don’t hurt yourself --”

“Your greeting has been acknowledged,” Blaine announces. “God, I bet it’s going to be a mover. I’m never going to be comfortable again.”

“You’ll live,” Kurt assures him. He drops his pencil and glances at his watch, shoulders falling a little. “I should probably let you go. You need to leave for work in a few.”

“And you need to get back to yours,” Blaine sighs. “I’m glad you’re there, Kurt -- I know it’ll mean really great things in the long run -- but I do miss you. I wish you were here.”

“Four more days,” Kurt promises. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

As he hangs up the phone, it strikes Kurt again that he is in Paris, and there is nothing he can do to protect Blaine while he’s here, and the phantom memory of the woman in the mirror follows him wherever he goes.

* * * * *

A boy.

They’re having a _boy_.

Kurt’s not sure he really had a preference in the first place (and it’s not like it matters all that much because they’ve decided to leave their options open about another child). It’s just -- knowing the sex of their baby changes things. It makes all of this so much more _real_. It’s not like it hasn’t been real before now. There have been various things over the years that have made Blaine’s condition real to Kurt -- the birth control and need for condoms among the more obvious. And in the last few months, there have been several things that have made Blaine’s pregnancy very, very real to Kurt -- the prenatals and hormone injections and constant swelling of Blaine’s belly and the kicking that started two weeks ago. It’s just -- knowing that their baby is a boy gives their baby an identity (even if it is assigned, and if he decides it’s not right for him later, that’s _fine_ with them). It just -- it makes Kurt start to see their baby as a _person_. Blaine is creating a _person_ in there, and it all just kind of… takes Kurt’s breath away.

So when they’d gotten home from their celebratory dinner, Kurt had poured himself a rather large glass of wine and curled up with Blaine on the couch, cheek nestled against Blaine’s belly. He’s pleasantly buzzed and relaxed now, face a little warm. He peppers kisses across Blaine’s stomach, humming a little with each one. “Mmm, hi baby boy.”

Blaine smiles fondly down at him. “Does this mean we can start working on the nursery or announcements or baby shower invitations?”

“Sure,” Kurt sighs happily. “We can get started on those tonight, if you want.”

“In a little bit, maybe?” Blaine ventures. “I’m kind of starving.”

Kurt’s mouth blossoms into an affectionate smile, but he chooses not to tease. “What would you like?”

“Peanut butter and bananas sounds _really_ good right now,” Blaine groans. “I know that sounds kind of weird, but --”

“Oh, I think it could be weirder,” Kurt offers. “Want me to get it for you?”

Blaine shakes his head. “No, I kind of want to get up and stretch a little bit. We can go in the kitchen together. And you,” he adds, tapping Kurt affectionately on the nose, “can get some water to balance out this wine.”

Kurt rolls his eyes but pushes himself off of the couch to his feet. He holds out his hands wordlessly and helps Blaine to his feet, glad when Blaine doesn’t protest or argue. Blaine starts to make his way to the kitchen, but Kurt stops him before he can take more than a couple of steps. Kurt can’t _help_ it. February had gone so well and they’re having a boy and people are kind to Blaine and Blaine is healthy and Kurt has had wine and he’s starting to realize that he has a _thing_ for how hot Blaine looks when he’s pregnant. So Kurt settles his hands on Blaine’s waist just before the threshold to the dining room, trailing hot, wet kisses down the column of Blaine’s neck. Blaine sighs but settles back against him in surrender, exposing his neck a little more and moving Kurt’s hands to settle comfortably over his belly. Kurt moves his lips back up, kissing along Blaine’s jaw until Blaine gets the message and turns his head to the side to face him. Their lips meet, and Kurt feels a kick under his hands. He can’t help smiling against Blaine’s mouth, and even though Blaine lets out a groan of frustration, he breaks the kiss with a smile, too. Together, they turn to face the dining room, readying themselves to move to the kitchen --

Kurt’s heart stops beating and Blaine holds his breath and there is a gray _mist_ hovering in their dining room, _what the hell is that_?

“Please tell me I’m not hallucinating,” Blaine breathes.

“I see it, too,” Kurt whispers, his hands pulling Blaine closer, the gesture instinctive and protective. The mist whatever-it-is disappears almost as soon as it appeared, and together, they exhale slowly. Blaine’s breathing seems a little more uneven, and Kurt immediately becomes concerned. “Honey, come here, do you want -- come sit down, okay?” Blaine nods and allows himself to be led back to the couch, hands curled protectively around his belly. Kurt sinks down to his knees in front of him, hands rubbing soothingly along Blaine’s arms.

“I want to talk about this,” Blaine says immediately. “I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen. I don’t want to ignore it and hope it’ll go away.”

“Okay,” Kurt says slowly, brow furrowing in confusion. “What --”

“I know you, Kurt,” Blaine says, looking him dead in the eyes. “I know this isn’t exactly something either of us particularly believe in, but -- we both saw that with our own eyes, okay? I want to talk about it.”

“Okay, okay, shh,” Kurt soothes. “You don’t have to get worked up about it. I’m listening.”

Blaine takes a second to try and calm down a little. “I think -- I think I’ve suspected that there might be… something here for awhile now.”

“You’ve seen this before?” Kurt asks, surprised.

Blaine shakes his head. “No, that’s the first time that I’ve -- but there have been other things. Stuff gets moved around all the time or falls over on its own. The apartment is always cold at two in the morning. I feel like -- when you were in Paris, I got the feeling that I wasn’t alone, and I’m not talking about the baby.” He closes his eyes and huffs out a breath, clearly trying not to get agitated again. “I know it sounds crazy and I know you probably think it’s the hormones and that I’m imagining things and that you don’t believe me, but --”

“I believe you.”

Blaine blinks his eyes open, clearly surprised. “You do?”

Kurt nods. “I’ve… noticed some things, too.”

“Like what?”

“Mostly the same stuff you have,” Kurt sighs, sitting down into a more comfortable position without breaking their connection. “I’ve always tried passing it off as me being busy or distracted or exhausted or in need of caffeine or something, but…”

“But?” Blaine prompts.

Kurt bites his lip, hesitating. “This… isn’t the first time I’ve seen something like that.”

“Something _like_ that?” Blaine echoes, sounding a little nervous.

Kurt reaches for his wine glass to finish off the little that’s left before setting the glass back down onto the coffee table with a loud _thunk_. “Last month, toward the end of New York Fashion week, I woke up in the middle of the night at --”

“-- at two?” Blaine guess.

Kurt nods. “I went to the bathroom and washed my hands and face. And after I dried off, I looked up in the mirror and there was this… woman in the reflection with me. I turned around, but she wasn’t in the room with me, and when I turned back to the mirror, she was gone.”

“A woman,” Blaine says, voice quiet and shaking a little.

“I thought I was hallucinating,” Kurt tries. “Please, don’t get upset.”

Blaine shifts uncomfortably on the couch but doesn’t pull away from Kurt’s touch. “Kurt,” he sighs, “I just -- _if_ there’s actually something in this apartment, I want to get it checked out. I want people to come investigate.”

“Investigate?” Kurt echoes, nose wrinkling a little. “Why?”

“Because it’s probably just a poltergeist,” Blaine explains, still looking uncomfortable. “I mean, most of the stuff we’ve experienced has been pretty harmless. But I just -- I want to be sure, Kurt. I want to figure out exactly what’s going on. Because what if -- what if it’s not a poltergeist? What if it’s something malevolent? I just -- I can’t think about raising our kids here if it’s dangerous, Kurt. I just want our son to be safe.” And just like that, all of the tension melts out of Kurt’s body, and he can’t help the smile that lights up his face as he rests his chin on Blaine’s knee. “What?”

“Our son,” Kurt parrots gleefully. “It’s just -- it’s the first time either of us have called him that.”

Blaine relaxes a little, too, but he holds back his smile, intent on making his point. “Can we please hire someone?”

“Okay, okay,” Kurt sighs. “But if we’re actually going to do this, I’m doing it my way. I don’t want any priests or so-called psychic mediums or anyone like that in here. I know there are people who rely on science when they do stuff like this. I’d prefer to look into them.”

“You have no arguments from me,” Blaine assures him. “I’m happy to bring some logic into this equation.” He tangles his fingers in Kurt’s hair and finally gives way to his smile, fond and affectionate and warm. “Thank you,” he says softly, “for doing this for me.”

“I would do anything for you,” Kurt reminds him. Kurt moves in a little closer and drops a kiss to the top of Blaine’s belly before looking up to meet his husband’s eyes. “And for our son.”

* * * * *

They schedule an investigation for Blaine’s spring break at the end of March. They end up hiring a team called _Dead Truth_ , and while the name is a little tacky and eye-rolling inducing, the people behind the team are anything but. The entire team is comprised of about six or seven people, but it’s headed by a pair of brothers from Pennsylvania, James and Jeffrey Kingston. Kurt has apprehensions about the whole thing, even after exchanging e-mails and phone calls, right up until they actually arrive at the apartment for the preliminary tour. They’re both fairly logical, laid-back people, and when Blaine bustles in the door a few minutes late, belly first and apologizing profusely, they don’t even bat an eye at the fact that one of their clients is a pregnant man. The Kingston brothers are friendly and personable without being unprofessional, and it takes one looked shared between the Anderson-Hummels twenty minutes after their arrival for them to know that they’ve hired the right people.

The investigation isn’t as disruptive as Kurt thought it might be. The team does prefer to investigate at night, and while Blaine doesn’t have to go to work this week, Kurt still does, though his hours are a little flexible right now. Still, all it takes is an investment in a couple of pairs of earplugs to block out their voices at night. Kurt and Blaine take turns fixing the team breakfast in the morning before they head to their hotel for the rest of the day. It’s all very civil and technologically focused and non-disruptive. And it’s actually kind of… nice, having people around. Any worries Kurt had previously had about not taking them seriously or any of them being skeptical of the claims or judgemental toward Blaine are completely _gone_ , and by the time the end of the week rolls around and they all sit down together in the dining room to go over the evidence collected, Kurt’s honestly a little sorry to see them go.

For the most part, the Kingston brothers can only affirm the activity that’s been going on. Their team had the same experiences that Kurt and Blaine have had -- things being moved or dropped, cold spots at two in the morning. They do have video of the gray mist, though, which Kurt thinks is insanely lucky, and a voice captured on their tape recorders that causes Blaine to tense up a little next to him and chills to run down Kurt’s spine.

_...took him from me_ , the voice says, quiet and echoey and barely audible.

It’s not the words themselves that make Kurt uncomfortable, not even the fact that they caught an allegedly disembodied voice.

It’s the fact that the voice very clearly belongs to a woman, and again, Kurt feels like he is being watched.

The evidence isn’t much, but the Kingston brothers seem fairly convinced that whatever’s in the apartment is nothing to worry about.

Still, as they pack up their equipment and ready themselves to leave, Kurt and Blaine join hands over Blaine’s stomach, just in case.

* * * * *

_Just in case_ lasts them almost nine weeks.

Almost.

Blaine’s just shy of hitting thirty weeks when Kurt’s birthday rolls around at the end of May. It’s a much needed celebration for both of them, with the school year coming to a close for Blaine and the activity in the house starting to pick up a little. It’s nothing new, really, the activity, but it’s not particularly something they want to be dealing with when Blaine is hormonal and emotional about having to take a year or two off from teaching and Kurt is trying to cram a few extra hours in at work before the baby’s born at the end of the summer. So by the time Kurt’s birthday rolls around, they both opt to spend the night in and gorge themselves on birthday cake.

And if Kurt gets a little misty-eyed when Blaine brings the cake out of the kitchen because it makes him start thinking about throwing birthday parties for their son, well.

They’re only two and a half months away from meeting their son. Kurt’s allowed to start thinking and planning ahead. It’s practically a requirement at this point.

Blaine sets the cake down toward the edge of the table before straightening up and rubbing at his lower back. “Mmm -- oh! I forgot the lighter, hang on --”

“Let me get it,” Kurt says, ushering him into the chair at the end of the table. “You already waddled all the way out here with the cake.”

“Mean,” Blaine pouts, but he settles into the chair as comfortably as he possibly can and reaches for Kurt’s hand. “Thank you, honey.”

“Mmm, anytime,” Kurt hums pleasantly, leaning down for a kiss. Except one kiss turns into another, and another, and then they’re kind of making out at the dining room table at a slightly awkward angle, holding hands. Kurt uses his free hand to grip the back of Blaine’s chair and moans into Blaine’s mouth. _God_ , he really does not understand why Blaine being pregnant turns him on so much, but with Blaine’s increased libido, it’s all been working out _beautifully_. He thinks he might be able to convince Blaine to get on his knees and elbows in the bedroom later, especially if pillows are involved and Kurt offers to give him a back and foot massage after and --

They’re both startled out of their kisses by a noise coming from the table, and they both react almost instantaneously when they catch sight of the source.

The cake is on _fire_.

Literally, actually engulfed in flames.

The lighter is still in the kitchen.

Instinctively, Kurt tugs at Blaine’s arms and pulls him out of the chair and away from the table, putting himself between his pregnant husband and the table. They’re both a little frozen to the spot for a few seconds, horrified, before either of them can really muster up the focus to react or move again. It’s Kurt who springs into action, dashing into the kitchen and grabbing the fire extinguisher. He moves as quickly as he can, fumbling with it for a second before getting it to work and putting out the fire. He takes an extra minute or two to make absolutely sure that the fire’s out, and it’s with a thundering heart and aching arms that he sets the fire extinguisher on the floor and turns his attention back to Blaine.

If Kurt thought he knew what Blaine looked like terrified before, it’s _nothing_ compared to the look on his face now. Blaine’s eyes are wet and his whole body is trembling and he’s pressed flat against the wall and his hands are curled protectively around his belly and he’s breathing really hard and he keeps making all of these whimpering noises and god, Kurt just wants to hold him. “Did you -- did you _hear that_?” Blaine gasps.

Kurt’s brow wrinkles in confusion, and he hesitates, hand stretched out but just shy of actually touching his husband. “Hear what, the cake catching fire?”

Blaine shakes his head, still looking completely horrified, and Kurt actually can’t take it anymore; he lets his fingertips brush against Blaine’s arm, and Blaine doesn’t pull away. “Someone was screaming -- you didn’t hear that?” It’s Kurt’s turn to shake his head, now, and his answer only seems to agitate Blaine further. “Kurt, I -- I want you to call the Kingston brothers. I want them to come back. And don’t -- _don’t_ argue with me, Kurt. The cake _caught fire_ , we both saw it, we were sitting right there, we were less than a foot away, we could’ve been hurt, I’m not taking any chances, I don’t -- I can’t --”

“Hey, hey, shhh,” Kurt soothes, moving in closer and cupping Blaine’s cheek with his hand. “I know. It’s okay. Just -- calm down, okay? Stressing out isn’t good for you or the baby, okay? Why don’t you just sit down back in the living room and I’ll bring some ice cream out instead?”

Blaine’s voice is barely above a whisper when he answers. “Please, don’t leave me alone right now.”

Kurt’s heart aches for him. Blaine feels _threatened_ and unsafe, and even though Kurt feels the same way, he’s not in the same position that Blaine is right now. Blaine is the one carrying their child. He has a whole extra life to protect. And Kurt -- Kurt needs to protect his family. And if Blaine will feel safer by not being alone right now, then that’s what Kurt will give to him.

And there it is again, that strong urge to protect, flaring up and making Kurt’s blood race with something that feels too close to anger for him to be comfortable with. “Okay,” he says quietly, prying Blaine off of the wall and into his arms to hold him close, Blaine’s belly trapped a little awkwardly between them. Blaine fists his hands in the fabric that’s gathered at Kurt’s waist and buries his face into Kurt’s neck, breathing still a little shallow. “I’m right here. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

* * * * *

Kurt opens their door once again to the Kingston brothers and tries to offer them a polite, tight-lipped smile. “Hi,” he greets tiredly. “Thank you for agreeing to come back.” He steps aside to let them in, eyes narrowed in confusion when he realizes that it’s only the two of them and a very small set of equipment. “Just the two of you?”

James nods. “We weren’t entirely sure what we were walking into, so we figured we’d come down and see what was going on before deciding if we need to call in the rest of the team.”

Kurt nods in distracted understanding and leads them into the dining room. “You can set your stuff up in here. Have a seat -- did you want anything to drink? Blaine’s just in the shower, he shouldn’t be too long --”

“Kurt,” Jeffrey interjects gently. “Why don’t _you_ sit down and tell us what’s going on? Why are we back here? Has the activity changed?”

Kurt sinks down into a chair opposite them, a little defeated, and runs a hand through his hair. “We wanted to wait until Blaine was done with the school year before we had you come down here,” he explains. “The activity’s been mostly the same, I guess? There’s been more of it, but it wasn’t anything we were worrying about.”

“Until?” Jeffrey prompts.

“Until my birthday two weeks ago,” Kurt sighs. “We had a cake in here and I was going to go get the lighter for the candles, but I got… distracted and then the cake just… caught fire.”

“Caught fire?” James echoes, and oh, he actually sounds like he believes Kurt, god, that’s nice. Kurt hardly believes it himself, still, for all that it’s been two weeks, but Blaine’s increasing discomfort in the apartment has served as enough of a reminder that it actually happened, that it was real. “Before you lit the candles?”

“I didn’t even have the lighter in the room,” Kurt clarifies. “We were just in here, kissing, and the whole cake caught fire.”

“Like engulfed in flames?” Jeffrey asks.

Kurt nods. “It scared us both, but Blaine -- he heard someone screaming. Look, he’s _terrified_ , okay? He’s the one who wanted you guys to come back, and I just…” He looks down at his lap, suddenly very tired. “I’m more protective of him than he probably realizes, especially now that he’s pregnant. And I don’t have any answers for him. I don’t know how to make him feel safe.” He looks back up at the brothers and exhales slowly. “I was kind of hoping you could help. I know you just gather evidence that revolves around science, and that’s fine -- it’s why we hired you to begin with. But I just -- I feel like I can’t do anything about the situation until I actually know what we’re dealing with. I need your help figuring that out.”

“We can stay for a night or two, try and be a little more deliberate and inquisitive in our provoking,” James offers. “If the investigation warrants us bringing the rest of the team down here, we’re happy to do that. How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” Kurt sighs, offering them a weak smile. “Thank you.”

“You didn’t really start noticing any activity until last fall, right?” Jeffrey checks.

Kurt nods. “Why?”

“We just… were coming up with theories,” James explains carefully, “on the drive down here. You mentioned seeing the woman before, and we caught that voice the last time we were here, but we don’t have a whole lot to go on outside of that. And now that we know that whatever entity is in here has a much higher possibility of being malevolent, we’re trying to narrow down our theories into ones that are actually plausible.”

“Such as?”

“Well, at first we kind of thought it might have something to do with homophobia,” Jeffrey explains. “But you said the activity didn’t really start until the fall, and we figured if that was the case, the activity would’ve started earlier.”

Kurt knows what James is going to say before he actually says it. “You think this is about the baby,” Kurt breathes. The brothers share a slightly uncomfortable look, and it’s all the answer Kurt needs. He inhales sharply and squeezes his eyes shut, fighting the anger that comes with the feeling of protectiveness. He hates how much sense their theory makes, hates the idea that the activity has increased as Blaine’s pregnancy has progressed. He hates the idea that whatever is in the apartment is growing increasingly agitated and taking it out on Blaine just because he’s _pregnant_.

Kurt sets his jaw and opens his eyes. He will not let anything hurt his family.

“Just… gather what you can,” Kurt says thinly, trying not to be rude. “I’ll take care of Blaine, and once we have more information, we can figure out what we’re going to --”

He’s cut off by Blaine’s hair-raising scream from the bathroom, and all three of them can’t get to their feet fast enough. Kurt hardly acknowledges the brothers as they follow him, his heart beating triple time as he races to the master bathroom to check on his husband. The shower’s still running and the shower doors are closed and Blaine is sobbing behind them. Kurt wrenches one of the doors open and almost vomits at the sight in front of him.

Blaine is covered in blood.

He’s plastered against the wall as far away from the showerhead as he can possibly get, hands covering his stomach, eyes wide and terrified, breath coming out uneven. Kurt’s first thought is that Blaine is injured, so moves closer, ready to step over the side of the tub into the shower when he notices it.

The water coming out of the showerhead is thick and red.

Kurt tries not to think about it and focuses on making sure his husband is okay. He climbs into the shower without hesitation, putting himself between Blaine and the stream from the shower head. He can feel the liquid hitting the back of his clothes but absolutely doesn’t care, and it’s with shaking, fretful hands that starts to examine Blaine’s body. “Are you hurt?” Kurt asks fervently. “Are you bleeding anywhere?”

“N -- no,” Blaine stammers through his tears, eyes locked with Kurt’s. “It -- it just started to -- to --”

Kurt double-checks Blaine’s body, just in case, before he glances over his shoulder at the showerhead. The red liquid is gone, a clear, crisp water back in its place. Kurt whirls back around to face Blaine and cups Blaine’s face in his hands. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “It’s gone. It’s just water now.” He repeats it a few times until it finally starts to sink in for Blaine, and together, they start to breathe a little easier. “I’m going to clean you up,” Kurt promises. “It’s going to be okay.” He glances over toward the doorway where the Kingston brothers are only half-watching them and can’t find it in him to be ashamed or awkward. “Can you give us some privacy, please?”

The brothers part without protest, and as soon as they’re out of the room, Kurt starts to peel off his ruined clothes. He shuts the shower door once he’s naked and takes Blaine’s hands in his, gently guiding him back under the spray of the water. Blaine’s sobs have finally started to taper off, but he’s still trembling a little, frightened beyond all belief. Kurt takes his time in washing them both off and takes twice as long to make sure that Blaine is clean and well before he even thinks about turning the water off. And even then, Kurt’s wary about moving him, so he pulls Blaine into his arms and stands with him under the spray of the water until the water turns tepid.

Out of the shower and into the bedroom, Blaine lets Kurt take care of him. He allows Kurt to dry him off and fix his hair and help him get dressed, and he doesn’t even complain when Kurt is too gentle with his touch. Dressed comfortably in pajamas, Kurt piles Blaine into bed and lets Blaine snuggle up against him. They’re both quiet for a long time, Kurt gently stroking the skin at Blaine’s neck, Blaine’s hands still anchored protectively around his thirty-two week belly.

“They took some of it,” Blaine says faintly after a while. “The Kingston brothers. They found a jar in the bathroom and got a sample of the --” The words die in his throat, and Kurt tightens his hold around Blaine.

“They’ll probably have it tested,” Kurt explains, “to see if it actually was --” He tapers off awkwardly, too, because neither of them can bring themselves to say it. “I bet they’ll do some digging to see if there was some sort of contamination somewhere.”

Blaine adjusts himself so that he’s looking up at Kurt, and _oh_ , he looks so tired. There are dark circles under his eyes and his shoulders are caved in and he just looks _defeated_. “They can do what they want,” Blaine says quietly, “but I want to talk about bringing someone else in.”

“I thought you liked them,” Kurt says, confused.

“I do,” Blaine sighs, “but I -- they’re not going to help us get rid of it. Her. Whatever it is. We need to start looking into options that will help us do that. And I know you’re uncomfortable with priests and mediums and whatnot. I get that. But I just… I don’t know what to do anymore, Kurt. And I’m _scared_ , okay?”

“Shh, shh, okay,” Kurt soothes, tugging Blaine close again and dropping a kiss to the top of his head. “I’ll start looking into it. I’ll figure something out. I --” He takes a moment to try and remember how to breathe. Blaine’s supposed to have a c-section in approximately eight weeks and they’re just over halfway done setting up the nursery and they can’t _live like this_ , they can’t bring their son into this environment. Things are only getting worse. It’s not just about missing items or things falling over or cold spots anymore. There is something -- a woman, if Kurt’s actually facing the truth -- in the apartment and they are at the point where flames and blood are involved. Kurt has to put aside his disdain and disbelief and start exploring other options if he wants to keep his family safe. “I promise everything will be okay.”

And if this _is_ about the baby, well.

Kurt will do everything he can to win this war.

* * * * *

The substance from the shower turns out to be blood, after all, and after some extensive digging and research and testing, the Kingston brothers can’t find any possible sources of contamination or reason for the occurrence.

Blaine refuses to shower alone, after that.

The Kingston brothers leave and come back a couple of weeks later, this time with their entire team and a van full of equipment. Their return coincides purposefully with the arrival of other paranormal investigators -- including an allegedly psychic medium, which Kurt isn’t particularly thrilled about. Together, they all set up and plan to investigate with and around each other in the hopes that a collaborative effort will help yield better and more helpful results.

Blaine chooses to be a little more active in his participation in the investigations, and while Kurt isn’t happy about it, he doesn’t argue. The plethora of people seems to comfort Blaine, and Kurt knows that Blaine -- like himself -- just wants answers. In all the time that they’ve known each other, Kurt knows that Blaine has tried deferring to authority figures to problem solve. And in the end, he always, always, always ends up disappointed. It’s why, as he’s gotten older, more sure of himself, he’s been much more proactive about trying to solve problems himself. And, well. Participating in the investigations is pretty much the only thing that either of them _can_ do right now.

It’s how Kurt finds himself at the dining room table sitting next to Blaine across from a kind, blonde woman named Caitlyn and staring at a Ouija board.

“This is ridiculous,” he snaps irritably.

“Kurt,” Blaine warns. “We talked about this.”

“You can participate if you want,” Kurt says, “but I am not giving into some ridiculous --”

“Actually,” Caitlyn cuts in tentatively, and god, she’s so polite that Kurt almost feels a little bad for being such a rude skeptic, “I think it would really help if you both participated.”

Kurt makes a frustrated, impatient noise, but Blaine speaks before Kurt can say anything. “Why?”

“Because she doesn’t want to talk to me, obviously,” Caitlyn explains. “If you participate, Kurt, she might not be quite so… hostile.”

Kurt arches an eyebrow at her, but he softens entirely when Blaine reaches for his hand under the table. “You promised,” Blaine says quietly. “You promised you’d keep us safe.”

The apartment doesn’t feel like theirs anymore, and Kurt will do whatever it takes to fix that.

Kurt squeezes his hand and leans over to press a kiss to his temple, surrendering. “Okay,” he sighs. “Tell me what to do.”

“Both of you place one finger on the planchette, like I am,” Caitlyn instructs. Kurt inhales sharply, but together, he and Blaine move to touch it in tandem.

Kurt notices the time on Blaine’s wristwatch -- two a.m. -- and feels the cold settle into his bones.

It’s… strange, using a Ouija board, especially with Blaine next to him. Blaine doesn’t seem to be having too strong of a reaction to anything as Caitlyn asks fairly generic questions, although he’s obviously tense and Kurt can’t help but notice that his free hand is curled protectively around his belly. And while it certainly _feels_ like the planchette moves without guidance under their touch, Kurt can’t be certain that Caitlyn isn’t controlling it. He feels bad for doubting her, but he can’t help it. He’s been a skeptic most of his life when it comes to things like this, and even though they are definitely in the middle of experiencing _something_ in their home, Kurt’s not about to change his beliefs for one measly session with a Ouija board.

Not even when the words _took him _get spelled out.__

__Not even for _mine_._ _

__Or _give_._ _

__Again and again, the messages get repeated -- _took him, mine, give_. Faster and faster each time until Kurt’s arm starts to ache a little from being jerked around so quickly. The movements become less smooth with each repetition, wild and frantic until Caitlyn jerks her hand back like she’s been burned and Blaine is gasping Kurt’s name and then the whole apartment _shakes_ with all twelve (thirteen? fourteen?) people in it._ _

__It’s then that Kurt hears the scream, the one Blaine must have been talking about, and from the looks of the faces of the people around them, he’s not the only one._ _

__And then there’s a clatter, and a thud, and -- and Blaine is against on the floor and against the wall and he’s gasping for air, one hand clawing and clamoring and grasping at his throat, the other still anchored around his belly. Blaine can’t _breathe_ and he’s spasming on the floor and against the wall and his eyes are starting to roll back in his head and --_ _

__That’s _it_._ _

__Kurt is taking their home back._ _

__The rage bubbling beneath the protectiveness boils over and floods through Kurt, white and hot. He’s out of his seat and down on the floor, reaching for where Blaine’s hand is trembling against his neck. Kurt touches him without hesitation -- Blaine’s hand is _ice cold_ \-- and that’s all it takes. Blaine gasps beneath him, gulping in huge amounts of air as his eyes come back into focus. He can hardly breathe and he’s still trembling and he immediately bursts into violent sobs, curling up against Kurt and fisting a hand in Kurt’s shirt._ _

__The rest of the room is silent around them as Blaine’s breathing starts to even out, and as Kurt holds his husband in his arms, his mind floods with the immediate concerns: he should take Blaine to the emergency room, he needs to make sure Blaine and the baby are all right._ _

__If they aren’t, Kurt is going to find a way to murder a ghost._ _

__He realizes, a little belatedly, how _insane_ that sounds, but he finds himself unable to care. “You’re okay,” Kurt soothes, tugging Blaine closer. “I’m here. You’re safe. I promised I’d keep you safe.”_ _

__“She wants the baby,” Blaine whimpers, clutching tighter. And it all starts to fall into place -- the increase in activity with the progression of Blaine’s pregnancy, Blaine’s discomfort being alone in the apartment, the fire, the _blood_ , the attempt at strangling Blaine._ _

__The words that won’t go away._ _

___Mine. Give._ _ _

__“Please,” Blaine whispers. “Please, don’t let her.” He’s borderline _hysterical_ now, nonsensical and overly emotional. Kurt needs to get him to the hospital before the episode gets any worse, and he has absolutely no qualms about leaving the rest of the investigators behind to finish what they started._ _

__“I won’t,” Kurt assures him, tangling his fingers with Blaine’s over the swell of Blaine’s belly. “I promise.”_ _

____

* * * * *

Summer means that Blaine isn’t working. But Kurt still is, and after the dual investigation, he ends up having to take an extra couple of days off just to be at home with Blaine. Blaine is completely uncomfortable being alone in the apartment now, but Kurt can’t always stay with him during the work week. Kurt’s trying to cram in as many hours at the office as he possibly can before Blaine’s c-section, so he employs the help of their friends -- Rachel and Santana, since Sam’s out of the country working right now -- as well as some of Blaine’s co-workers to keep him company during the day. Blaine ends up coming in with him to work a few times, but he’s only four weeks away from his surgery and moving around is getting harder every day.

It’s then -- four weeks out from the arrival of their son -- that the Kingston brothers come back with all of the evidence from the dual investigation, including what the other paranormal investigators had collected. As they sit down at the dining room table, Blaine looks uncomfortable and small, even with his enormously swollen belly, and Kurt scoots his chair as close as possible and wraps his arm around his husband.

“We did some questioning after you went to the hospital that night,” James explains. “We… believe that whatever is in the apartment is intelligent, not residual.”

“Residual?” Blaine echoes, wrinkling his nose a little.

“Residual hauntings are usually the result of traumatic events,” Jeffrey explains. “A natural disaster, a tragic death, a murder -- things like that. Some part of the event gets imprinted on a location or an object. It’s like an echo of what happened, something stuck in time, instead of something that can still think and act for itself in the present time and environment.”

“Did you think it was residual before?” Kurt inquires.

“At first, yeah,” James affirms. “We kept getting a lot of the same evidence -- the voice we caught the first time matched up with what Caitlyn’s Ouija board turned up. We thought it might be residual, then, but with what we got after you left -- it was all very direct answers to direct questions.”

“Just… tell us,” Kurt says sharply. Blaine rests a gentle hand on Kurt’s thigh, which prompts Kurt to try breathing a little more evenly.

Jeffrey hands them both a set of headphones before hitting play on the laptop they’ve set up, and after a moment of static and crackling, the voices of the brothers -- and Caitlyn and the other investigators -- fill their ears again, almost like they were never gone.

“Did you die here?” recorded-James asks.

A woman’s voice -- _the_ woman’s voice -- answers him. “ _Yes_.” Blaine’s hand tightens on Kurt’s thigh.

“Where did you die?” is the next question, this time voiced by recorded-Jeffrey.

“ _In the bathroom._ ” And oh god, the bathroom, which bathroom, theirs? Is that why she’d covered Blaine in blood? This time, it’s Kurt’s hand that tightens on Blaine’s arm.

“How?” Recorded-James, sharp and clear.

“ _Killed me_ ,” the woman’s voice answers, distant and throaty and breathy. Kurt can feel Blaine shiver against him.

“Who did they take?” Recorded-Jeffrey, gentler but still inquisitive.

“ _Henry._ ”

Blaine pushes the headphones off so fast that they almost knock Kurt in the face, and even though Blaine’s belly is swollen with their son, he moves as fast as he possibly can to push himself up out of the chair. Kurt tugs his own headphones off and sets them down on the table, legs of his chair making a grating noise on the hardwood floor. “Honey --”

“Did that mean anything to you?” Jeffrey asks curiously.

Blaine’s gone a little pale and his arms are curled protectively around his bump and his eyes are watering and god, it’s like the definition of terrified keeps getting redefined the longer all of this goes on. “Henry,” Blaine says faintly. “We -- we talked about naming the baby Henry. I --” He closes his eyes and moves one hand to grip the back of his chair to steady himself.

“Sweetheart, sit down,” Kurt prods gently, reaching for Blaine’s arm.

But Blaine just shakes his head and opens his eyes, inhaling sharply. “No, I just -- I’m going to get a glass of water from the kitchen so I don’t throw up, okay? I can’t -- I can’t sit here right now.”

“Do you need me to --”

“No,” Blaine huffs, clearly agitated. “I just -- give me a minute, okay?” He squeezes Kurt’s hand as he waddles by, though, and the room is silent until Blaine’s in the kitchen.

Kurt runs a hand through his hair and exhales slowly, unnerved by the brothers watching him. “I, um -- I think we’re done investigating,” he announces. “I promised Blaine I’d look into finding a way to get rid of it -- her -- whatever. I had some ideas about where to start looking, but if you have any suggestions, we’d love to hear --”

There’s a _thunk_ in the kitchen, followed by the sound of glass shattering and Blaine’s scream, and Kurt pushes himself out of his chair and tears off toward the kitchen so fast that he trips over his own feet on the way. Another _thunk_ , another scream just before he crosses the threshold into the kitchen (and he’s vaguely aware of the brothers following him, possibly with a camera, but he really doesn’t care right now). Kurt pushes open the kitchen door and stumbles inside, eyes searching the kitchen wildly until he finds Blaine curled up on the floor in front of the pantry, glass shattered on the floor, hands protecting his belly, eyes wide and terrified. Two rather sharp knives are sunken into the wood of the pantry door, and for a second, Kurt can’t do anything but watch in complete and utter horror as another knife is lifted from the knife block by _nothing_ and chucked in Blaine’s direction. Blaine ducks his head and screams again, sobbing violently now, and Kurt almost throws up on the spot.

No.

_No._

Kurt absolutely will not stand for this. This is the last straw.

Blindly and without further hesitation, Kurt launches himself toward Blaine, protective and enraged. Blaine lifts his head just as Kurt is about to sink to his knees in front of him, and Blaine’s whole body is trembling as he reaches out a hand, ready to latch onto Kurt when he’s close enough. Inches away, knees just off of the floor, their skin makes contact and --

It takes Kurt a second to register that there is a _knife_ in his back, and he can barely do more than make an odd sound somewhere between gagging and gasping before his knees hit the linoleum floor with a loud _thud_ , his body dead weight as Blaine’s hand wraps around Kurt’s forearm like an iron vice. Kurt feels frozen, rooted to the spot, and it takes Blaine a few more seconds to realize what’s happened (and that there are no more knives being thrown). Blaine’s eyes drift under Kurt’s arm to where Kurt is assuming the knife is sticking out of his back (and there’s no pain -- why isn’t there any pain?), and he looks like Kurt feels -- horrified and unable to move or breathe.

Vaguely, Kurt is aware of the voice of the brothers yelling behind them -- something about Kurt not moving and calling an ambulance and camera footage -- but he only has eyes for Blaine. Blaine, who is still steadily crying and won’t let go of Kurt’s arm. Blaine, who still has a hand anchored around the swell of his belly, protecting their son. Blaine, who presses his forehead against Kurt’s and murmurs “stay with me” over and over and over again.

And somehow, even with a knife in his back, all Kurt can focus on is Blaine’s hands on his skin and their son trapped between them, protected.

In the midst of chaos and pain, Kurt somehow feels safe.

* * * * *

The next few hours are a blur, unfocused and muted around the edges. Still, somehow, miraculously, Kurt can’t feel the pain until they’re actually trying to take the knife out at the hospital. And even after that, it’s honestly not that bad, though he supposes the pain medication they’ve given him is partially responsible for that. He knows it’s a flesh wound, and he knows that the brothers are astounded by it because of how _fast_ the knife was moving through the air prior to sinking into Kurt’s back. He knows that he gets stitches, and he knows that it’ll be at least a few hours before they’ll discharge him and send him home.

Blaine doesn’t let go of his hand the whole time, and somehow that makes it all seem a little less real.

At least until they start talking about going home.

“I’m not going home,” Blaine says, firm but voice shaking a little.

“Blaine,” Kurt sighs.

“ _No_ ,” Blaine says emphatically. “Kurt, you are in a hospital with an injury that was given to you by a ghost that lives in our apartment, or has that slipped your mind already?”

“I’m the one with the injury, thanks,” Kurt snaps dryly. “And in case _you’ve_ forgotten, I’m only injured because I got in the way. I wasn’t the target, Blaine. That entity that lives in our home? She was trying to _carve our son out of you_.”

It’s that, the sheer bluntness of Kurt’s words, that causes Blaine to swallow and look away. “All the more reason not to go back.”

“ _No_ ,” Kurt says firmly. “We’ve already made so much progress on paying off the mortgage. The nursery is practically finished. It’s where we _live_ , Blaine. It’s our _home_. _Ours_ , not hers.”

“ _Please_ ,” Blaine gasps, looking back over at him. “Please, I can’t -- I can’t go back knowing she’s still there, knowing what she’s capable of.”

Kurt sighs and rubs his thumb along the back of Blaine’s hand soothingly. “Okay, look, how about this? You can stay with Rachel or Santana for the next week, and I have someone come in and do a cleansing.”

“Really?” Blaine ventures softly. “I mean -- I know neither of us really buys into that sort of thing, especially if it’s based in religion, but --”

“At this point, I will try anything,” Kurt admits. He clutches Blaine’s hand a little tighter and scoots in close, wincing a little as the pain starts to settle in. “I am not going to let anyone or anything hurt you or our son.”

Blaine squeezes his hand, eyes growing a little wet. “I don’t want you to get hurt again either,” he says. “So promise me -- if I stay with one of the girls this week, you’ll have the other come stay with you. I don’t want to leave you alone there, Kurt.”

“Deal,” Kurt agrees, leaning in to press his lips to Blaine’s forehead. “And you promise me that you’ll take it easy, okay? I understand why you’ve been stressed out, but it’s not good for you or the baby, and you’ve only got another month left before your c-section, okay? Just… relax. It’s what Sam would tell you, if he were here. You know he would.” Blaine nods, which Kurt knows means that Blaine will _try_ , at least. Blaine shifts uncomfortably in the chair next to Kurt’s bed, rubbing at his back with his free hand. “Do you want some of my pillows?” Kurt offers kindly.

Blaine shakes his head. “You need those.”

“You need them just as much as I do,” Kurt reasons, shifting awkwardly on the bed and trying to hide his wince. “Come up here and sit with me.”

“I don’t know if I’ll fit.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “We’re spending the next seven nights apart, Blaine. Shut up and come cuddle.”

* * * * *

Kurt doesn’t tell Blaine exactly when he plans on doing the cleansing. He does, however, have Santana tell Rachel to keep her phone on the night they do it, just in case. He does kind of wish that Sam were around right now, because his presence would be really comforting to Blaine, but Rachel is a good second choice considering the situation. Having Santana with Kurt is the smarter of two options, really, and Kurt tries not to dwell on the fact that it’s because Blaine is more likely to believe something outrageous if Santana’s the one to confirm it.

God, Kurt really hopes it doesn’t come to that.

Having Santana around the night of the cleansing brings Kurt comfort in a variety of ways. She’s still a little… skeptical of everything, even though she believes in a lot of things that Kurt doesn’t. She laughs a little and declares his stitches both wicked and gross, and when the house grows quiet and the cleansing begins, she explains some of what’s going on for Kurt’s benefit. Really, it’s for Blaine’s benefit, because Kurt doesn’t care what they do, particularly, but he knows -- and Santana knows -- that Blaine will want to know _everything_ that happens. Well, at least Kurt thinks that’s what Blaine will want, anyway. Even if he doesn’t, Blaine will want to be sure that the woman in their home is gone and that it’s safe to come home.

Home.

Kurt feels a little foolish, now, being so insistent on taking back their home. It’s -- he feels like he’s doing the right thing, trying to make this place liveable again. They’ve lived here practically a year and have made so many steps toward really making it their own, but… He remembers, years ago, when he’d first seen Blaine after they’d broken up. He remembers saying that Ohio -- McKinley -- wasn’t home. And he’d meant it then because it’d been true -- his heart wasn’t at McKinley. He couldn’t trust to leave it there, at least not at the time. But here, now, Kurt is forced to face the same reality he had back then, which is that home is not -- has never been -- a place.

His home is Blaine, and right now, Kurt is not home.

He’s not alone -- not with Santana and Caitlyn and a _priest_ and the Kingston brothers in the apartment with him. But Kurt _feels_ alone because his heart is elsewhere, and the only thing keeping him here is the knowledge that he has to go through with this if he wants his heart to come back to him.

So he sits and waits in the living room and lets Santana massage his shoulders as the Kingston brothers take up camp in the dining room and Caitlyn follows the priest -- Eric -- through the apartment. Kurt tries to tune them all out as much as he can, eyes shifting from his phone on the table to the photographs on the wall in the dining room. In his hands, he runs his fingers over the material of one of Blaine’s cardigans and misses his husband so much that it hurts.

He clutches it close to him when the temperature in the apartment becomes suddenly _freezing_ , and Kurt knows without needing to look at a clock that it’s two in the morning.

Santana hisses and swears and pulls a blanket off of the back of the couch to curl around her. “Jesus,” she huffs. “It’s _July_. Is it always like this?”

“At two in the morning, yes,” Kurt answers numbly, and he hates that it’s come to this, that all of the insane things that occur in their apartment are almost _normal_.

The lights start to flicker all through the apartment, and it only takes a moment for every door to bang open. Santana swears again, jumping a little on the couch, and across the apartment, Kurt can hear Eric’s voice grow louder, stronger, more firm. Again, the lights flicker, and just as Eric and Caitlyn enter the dining room, a scream -- _the_ scream, the one that belong to the woman, the one Kurt knows he’s heard before -- fills the entire apartment.

And somehow, in that moment, Kurt knows what he’s supposed to do.

“The bathroom,” he says suddenly. “She’s in the bathroom. She’s always been in the bathroom. It’s where I first saw her. It’s where she died. It’s --” He’s up on his feet and stumbling out of the living room and into the hallway, ignoring Santana’s protests and not caring who follows him. It’s _his_ responsibility to figure this out, to deal with this problem and fix it and make it go away and make things better, make things safe for his family. Exhausted and determined and hardly able to see straight, Kurt enters the master bedroom and grips the doorframe of the bathroom just as the lights flicker again. Kurt reaches for the lightswitch in the bathroom, flicks the switch up, and --

There she is.

Kurt can hardly _breathe_ at the sight of her. Vaguely, he knows that everyone else has followed him, that they’re all behind him. He doesn’t care if Caitlyn can communicate with her. He doesn’t care if the Kingston brothers are capturing this on film. He doesn’t care if Santana’s cursing or possibly crying and moving away. He doesn’t care what Eric thinks is the right thing to do.

This is Kurt’s enemy, and he will not let her take his family, his _home_ away from him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt sees Eric lift something -- a Bible, maybe, and something else Kurt can’t identify. Quickly, Kurt reaches out a hand to stop him, effectively silencing Eric’s words before they’re even out of his mouth. It’s not right. It’s not what they’re supposed to do. Kurt doesn’t know _how_ he knows. He can’t explain it. But with his eyes locked with the woman’s -- the _ghost’s_ , god, this is absolutely crazy -- Kurt somehow knows one thing.

She doesn’t want to hurt them.

He thinks that might be the most important thing.

It also makes him inexplicably angry, because while his intuition tells him that he’s safe, it’s also telling him that it’s because Blaine isn’t here.

Kurt steps carefully over the threshold and into the bathroom, and the woman moves slightly toward him. “Give.” Her voice sounds distant and yet it still echoes and reverberates loudly in the confines of the bathroom walls. “Mine.”

They’re the same things she’s said before, and while Kurt mostly agrees with the Kingston brothers -- that this woman’s haunting is intelligent -- there’s a part of him that thinks a lot of it might be residual. “Give what?” Kurt says sharply. “What’s yours?” The thing is, Kurt _knows_ the answers to his questions. Or at least, he knows what Blaine thinks the answers are. The Kingston brothers think it, too, if only in less explicit terms. They think this is about the baby. Kurt doesn’t feel any better when the woman says _Henry_ , but then she says it again, much quieter, and she reaches out a hand, looking a little lost. “Henry isn’t here,” Kurt says, and again, he’s firm, but his tone is much gentler now.

“Henry,” she says again, looking frustrated and distraught, and it occurs to Kurt, then, that she might be limited in what she can say in this form. She’s only ever said this name -- _Henry_ and _give_ and _mine_ and _took him from me_. There’s so much else that she’s _done_ \-- object manipulation and messing with the electricity and the plumbing (and Blaine, Kurt thinks in the back of his mind, she tried to strangle Blaine). Action might be the better way for her to get her point across, but there’s so much _risk_ that comes with it.

And then Kurt remembers that he took a knife in the back to protect his husband and their unborn son, and he suddenly finds that he doesn’t really care what she does to him. What could be worse?

“Henry isn’t here,” Kurt says again. “I don’t know who Henry is. Can you tell me? Can you show me?”

The lights flicker throughout the apartment again, and when they stop, she’s gone.

Kurt exhales slowly and closes his eyes, and behind him, everyone begins talking at once.

“Holy _shit_ \--”

“There has to be some way we can communicate with her --”

“We really should just try getting rid of it --”

“I’ve never even _seen_ \--”

“What do you _mean_ the battery’s dead --”

“ _Stop_ ,” Kurt says, sharp and clear. Everyone goes silent behind him, and he takes a moment to think and breathe and try not to panic, hand flexing against the door frame. He has options, he knows that. He just… has to figure out which is the right one to choose. He can put his trust back in Eric and let him try to get rid of her. He can agree with Caitlyn and continue to try communicating with a ghost, and he can ask the Kingston brothers to help find a way to provoke it -- her -- into coming back out. Or he can retreat back into Santana’s comfort and let someone else make the decision for him.

He thinks of Blaine, remembers how scared and terrified Blaine has been from the beginning, how it’s only gotten worse with time and each experience. He remembers Blaine being the one to suggest an investigation, Blaine being the one to want to participate in them. He remembers Blaine voicing Kurt’s desire to be safe. And it’s that -- thinking of Blaine -- that makes it all make sense to Kurt. They’ve been afraid not just because they don’t want to be harmed, but because they don’t know what’s been causing all of this in the first place. They know it’s an entity, they know that entity is a woman, and they know that she’s angry -- or at the very least, upset -- because someone named Henry was taken from her.

They know so _little_ , and as terrified as Blaine has been these past few months, it’s the look of frustration and despair on the woman’s face that helps Kurt make his decision.

“Help me,” Kurt says quietly, hoping she can hear him. “Help me understand. I can’t help you if I don’t understand.”

God, he’s _crazy_. He’s talking to a _ghost_.

There’s a noise from the other side of the apartment, and Kurt leads the way toward it without hesitation. He finds the source of it in the dining room. There’s a framed photograph of him and Blaine lying on the floor. Kurt kneels to pick it up, grateful that the glass isn’t broken, and it’s only then, with the frame in his hand, that the lights flicker and the apparition of the woman comes back into existence. Her fingers reach out toward his hand but don’t touch, and somehow, Kurt can still feel her cold. “Henry,” she says again, voice cutting in and out like static.

“That’s not Henry,” Kurt explains. “That’s my husband, Blaine.” A half-strangled scream and the lights flicker again, taking the woman with them. Kurt sets the frame back in its place, and when the lights flicker again, the sound of rattling catches his attention. “What _is_ that?” he asks, glancing at the others. There are various guesses, but it’s not until Santana says “It sounds like a cage being rattled” that Kurt realizes what it is. “The crib,” he says dumbly. “The nursery.”

His feet can’t move fast enough.

He feels like he’s being led on a wild goose chase, a little, but at the same time, he finds that he doesn’t mind. This is the best way that their ghost can communicate with them, and Kurt has to adapt in order to understand her and get to the bottom of this.

He thinks Blaine would be proud of him.

It _is_ the crib that’s being shaken, and the lights flicker once he crosses the threshold into the room, bringing the woman back. She’s only there for a brief moment, though, the echo of _Henry_ the quietest yet, and as she disappears before his eyes, Kurt feels his heart sink to his stomach.

This _is_ about the baby.

With lead feet, Kurt trudges back into the master bathroom in silence, knowing that’s where he’ll find her next. The lights buzz and flicker, and Kurt holds out an arm as he steps into the bathroom, a silent gesture to keep everyone else watching and waiting from the bedroom. They’re allies, to be sure, and they’re here if he needs their help, but this is not their fight.

This time, when the ghost twists back into existence, she stays in the bathtub, arm dangling over the side. “Henry,” Kurt says, voice shaking and uneven. “He’s your son. They took your son from you.” A nod from the woman in the bathtub, barely there, and in a strange way, Kurt almost feels like he’s watching her die all over again. “What happened?” The woman lifts her hand, reaching for him a little, and it occurs to Kurt that she’s trying to answer him, that she may have to show instead of tell.

Kurt inches a step forward.

“Kurt, _no_ ,” Santana says firmly, grabbing his shoulder. “This is _insane_. She’s going to -- fuck, I don’t know -- possess you or something. This isn’t safe. This is ludicrous. What the hell am I supposed to tell Blaine?”

Blaine.

Blaine is why Kurt _has_ to do this, because the ghost won’t leave if Kurt can’t find a way, and he can’t find a way unless he fully understands why she’s here and what she wants.

Boldly, Kurt shrugs out of Santana’s hold on him and moves to the side of the bathtub, ignoring her protests. He kneels down next to the tub and hesitates. The woman in the bathroom reaches out her hand just a little further, and for all that she’s not solid mass, Kurt swears that every wave of her is trembling.

Thumb rubbing against the metal of his wedding band to anchor him, Kurt reaches out his hand in turn and waits to pass through her.

He doesn’t.

It’s -- he’s not sure what it’s like, exactly, but he feels himself make contact with her being, whatever she’s made of. She’s ice cold on his skin, and the second he makes contact, it’s almost as if his body becomes some sort of vacuum, sucking her in. Vaguely, he’s aware that she’s disappearing (into him, she’s disappearing _into him_ and he’s totally about to be possessed by a fucking ghost), but it all happens so fast that there’s not really anything he can do to stop it. Gasping, Kurt grasps the edge of the bathtub with both hands and squeezes his eyes shut.

_When he opens his eyes, things are different._

_His heart is beating rapidly in his chest and he’s inside the bathtub now, unable to move. And the bathroom -- the bathroom looks different. Everything is older, darker, and there are the voices of several men just next to him. His vision isn’t clear and he feels suddenly exhausted, lethargic and unable to move, why can’t he move?_

_It only takes one glance down to realize that he is not in his own body any more. He’s occupying the body of the ghost in his apartment, and it takes him a moment to realize that this isn’t happening, now. This is a memory --_ her _memory, and Kurt is only a witness to it. This is how she’s communicating with him._

_Kurt (the woman) looks down at his (her) body and notices blood pooling around his (her) pelvis and legs. “Henry,” she says, and he feels his own voice echo inside his head even though he doesn’t speak. “Please, just -- just give me Henry.” Her voice is faint and breathy and she’s slurring her words and oh god, she’s only_ just _given birth, hasn’t she? “Please, just --”_

_There’s the voice of a baby crying close by, but Kurt can’t see it, can’t see Henry, and his heart twists and aches for the woman. He can’t imagine what this must have felt like. He doesn’t even want to fathom it. The cries grow fainter after a moment, as if the baby’s being carried away, and vaguely, Kurt registers someone kneeling next to the bathtub like he’d done only moments before. “‘s not your concern, Izzy,” someone -- a man, Kurt thinks -- murmurs. The woman -- Izzy, she has a name now -- tries to protest, unable to do more than slur and murmur her words and pleas. In Kurt’s head, he’s practically screaming for her, sobbing at the thought that this happened to her, and now, in some twisted way, she’s almost made the same thing happen to him._

_And then there’s a cloth in front of his (her) face, over his (her) nose and mouth and Kurt knows what she doesn’t, that it’s doused in chloroform and they’re going to kill her,_ why are they trying to kill her? _He (she) struggles against it weakly, too spent from the recent labor and delivery to really fight back. Slowly, his (her) eyes slip shut, his (her) body coming to rest, and even as her consciousness starts to fade, Kurt feels more himself than he has since this whole thing started._

_He doesn’t know what they do to her after that. He can’t know because she doesn’t, but he’s not sure he wants to know._

_He feels her breath slip away, and --_

He’s pulled back into his own body and his own time very suddenly, gasping for air. His whole body is shaking terribly and his clothes are soaked through with sweat and _he’s going to throw up_. Blindly, he launches himself toward the toilet and heaves into it, and it’s then, ironically enough, that he remembers Blaine doing this just after Thanksgiving.

She’s close to him now, Izzy. He can feel her, hovering close by, cold and chilly and unwelcome to his sweaty and shivering skin. He can feel her brush against him, and again, it’s her way of trying to communicate. She doesn’t possess him, not this time, but she uses the proximity to communicate through images -- memories, if Kurt’s reading them correctly. It’s almost an out-of-body experience for him, watching their lives through her eyes. She’d seen them when they’d fucked on Halloween, high above the bed. She’s been in the bathroom all this time, more present at some times than others. The rest of it comes quicker, the images assaulting him in rapid-fire, and it’s with his breath caught in his chest that he watches her watch Blaine’s pregnancy progress, watches her zero in and focus on the baby.

She thinks the baby -- _their baby_ \-- is Henry. _Her_ Henry.

Kurt breaks the connection by pulling away, clutching the edges of the toilet seat more tightly. “I’m sorry,” he gasps. “I’m sorry for what they did to you.” It takes every bit of strength he has left to turn and look at her again, and even though she’s practically transparent and Kurt knows there are people just in the bedroom, watching them, Kurt can’t see anyone but her. “But it’s not yours. The baby’s not yours. It’s not Henry.”

Something clouds Izzy’s face; she flickers in and out of existence for a second before her voice echoes in the bathroom. “Henry.”

“No,” Kurt says again, wondering how he’s supposed to get his point across. “Mine.”

It’s the _worst_ thing he could say, apparently, because Izzy sort of shrieks a little and vanishes, almost like she doesn’t want to hear it. Everything is quiet and still for a moment, and Kurt takes advantage of it to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand and sit up a little, hardly daring to look at the people in the bedroom.

Santana looks _terrified_.

A buzz and a flicker and a distant scream and then Izzy’s back, hovering in the middle of the room. “Henry,” she says again, emphatic and almost a little aggressive.

“ _No_ ,” Kurt says again, sharp and firm and unrelenting. It doesn’t even occur to him how _dangerous_ it might be to oppose and provoke her like this because he doesn’t _care_. He will not let her anywhere near Blaine or their son ever again. Not after what she’s tried to do. “The baby isn’t yours. It’s mine.”

Another scream as she vanishes again, the loudest one yet, and this time, the lightbulbs in the bathroom _explode_ , tiny little fragments shattered and showering the counter and floor and Kurt’s shoulders. He hears another scream -- Santana’s this time, he thinks -- but he ignores it in favor of scooting toward the sink cabinet, back against the doors. “Leave Blaine alone!” he yells, feeling childish as he covers his ears. “I’m not going to let you hurt him. You’re not getting the baby. My son is not your son.”

A scream as she flickers back into view, and Kurt barely has time to draw breath before she moves in close. There’s an anger in her eyes he’s never seen before and it _frightens_ him, having her this close to him. Backed against the cabinet and trembling, Kurt has never been this scared in his entire life.

And in the midst of the cold and dark, his wedding band is warm and bright, his anchor, his beacon.

Blaine.

“My son is not your son,” Kurt says again, voice shaking. Again, “My son is not your son,” a little stronger. A third time, “My son is not your son,” firm and louder. Again and again,”My son is not your son!” until he’s practically _screaming_ it at her, the tremors in his body fueled by rage instead of fear.

She’s quiet for a moment, cold as ever, but something shifts and changes in her eyes, and if Kurt had any doubts before, he knows now beyond a shadow of a doubt that her presence here -- or in whatever realm her consciousness or soul or whatever currently exists -- is intelligent. Because the look in her eyes tells him that she’s finally starting to understand, and Kurt will do whatever it takes to see it through. “Henry,” she says again, because it’s one of the only things she _can_ say, but it’s different this time. It comes out distorted, confused, and Kurt knows she’s looking to him to guide her.

He has absolutely no idea what to say to her.

“Tell her Henry’s moved on,” Caitlyn says, quiet and sudden.

It seems almost _stupid_ to even consider it. Caitlyn’s voiced it out loud. Izzy could have heard her. But he remembers what Caitlyn had said her first night here, that Izzy hadn’t wanted to talk to her. Maybe Izzy’s not listening to her, either. Maybe it _has_ to be him.

Of course it has to be him.

“Henry’s moved on,” Kurt says quickly, swallowing hard around a lump in his throat. That, at least, is true, and he has to convince her of it. If he doesn’t, she’s going to continue to think that Kurt and Blaine’s son is her own. And after what Kurt’s been through tonight, the thought of Izzy doing to their son what she’d done to him -- the strange sort of possession -- is unbearable. He won’t let it happen.

The words seem to make sense to her, though, because she finally pulls back a little, shaking her head. “Henry,” again, reverberating against the walls and Kurt’s eardrums. She sounds almost _anguished_ , like she doesn’t know what to do with the information now that she has it, and Kurt almost feels sorry for her.

Almost.

“Tell her she has to cross over,” Eric instructs gently.

Kurt cannot _believe_ he’s about to do this.

“You have to cross over,” he rasps, lifting his head off of the cabinet door a little. “You have to cross over if you want to be with Henry. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To be with Henry?” _Henry_ again, almost like she’s crying this time, and Kurt only half-hears the words that Eric’s saying, following the instructions almost on intuition. There’s something cliche about a light and moving toward it and being encouraging and Kurt feels like he’s going to break out of his skin --

And then the image of Izzy starts to fade, only to be replaced by a quick, blindingly bright light. The entire apartment _vibrates_ just before the light disappears, and then bathtub is _flooded_ with a dark, red substance, spilling over the edges and onto the floor.

The world is shockingly, startlingly silent.

And somehow Kurt knows, in his bones, that she’s gone.

He can hardly _breathe_ and he can’t help the tears that spill onto his face and Santana’s arms are around him and she’s _hysterical_ and Kurt can hardly believe that any of this just happened to him.

Somewhere in him, the skeptic dies. With it comes the knowledge that they are finally, blissfully safe.

He breaks down at that, buries his head against his knees and sobs for all he’s worth, and the only thing that keeps him together is the weight of the metal on his left hand.

He can finally bring his family home.

* * * * *

When Kurt wakes in the morning, he finds himself surrounded by warmth.

There are fingers carding through his hair, an arm around his shoulders, gentle breathing against his skin. Movement under his hand. Kicking. The baby.

Blaine.

Kurt opens his eyes and blearily looks around, exhausted and disoriented. “Hey,” Blaine greets softly. “How are you feeling?”

Kurt rubs at his eyes with his hands, unable to remove himself from Blaine’s side or prop himself up. “Wiped,” he sighs, blinking around the room. “Are we… at Rachel’s?”

“Yeah,” Blaine confirms. A beat, and then, “Do you remember getting here?” Kurt shakes his head and melts into the pillow again. His whole body feels like dead weight. “Santana brought you over around four-thirty this morning, said you needed some rest and you couldn’t get it while they were cleaning. She said you went a little hysterical asking for me.”

The memory is foggy for Kurt, who can barely remember anything past Santana’s arms around him after Izzy had crossed over. He remembers feeling overwhelmed, remembers crying and trembling and wanting to be home. Home meant Blaine, so Kurt’s not all that surprised that he insisted on seeing his husband, that he was hysterical after everything that happened last night. The bathroom’s probably still a mess, and Kurt wouldn’t be surprised if Santana had packed him supplies for a few days while she and whoever else try to put it back together. Still, Kurt is here with Blaine now and it’s the only thing he cares about. “Yeah,” Kurt sighs, snuggling in close again. “I guess I probably did.”

Blaine’s hand sinks comfortingly into Kurt’s hair again, and he’s quiet for a moment before asking, “Do you want to talk about what happened last night?”

Reluctantly, Kurt shifts his head so he can look up at Blaine. “Do you need me to?”

Blaine considers him for a moment, expression thoughtful and a little guarded. “I don’t need all of the details right now, no,” Blaine allows, but he sounds a little reluctant, too. “I don’t want to push you to talk about it before you’re ready.”

Kurt kisses the inside of Blaine’s arm and tries to settle in comfortably again. “Thank you,” he mumbles. “I know you want to know everything, but just… later, okay?”

“I… wasn’t finished,” Blaine interjects, clearly treading carefully. Kurt blinks back up at him tiredly, raising his eyebrows. Blaine shifts a little, as much as he can in this position, with how pregnant he is, but it’s enough to force Kurt to prop himself up on an elbow. “I need you to give me _something_ , Kurt. I need to know if she’s gone. I need to know if it’s safe to go home. We can’t stay at Rachel’s forever.”

Kurt sighs and rubs at his temple. God, he needs coffee. “Everything will be fine. The bathroom’s kind of a disaster right now --”

“How long will it take to fix it?”

“Not too long, I think,” Kurt sighs. “Light bulbs need to be replaced, it needs to be cleaned, things like that. Nothing too major. Don’t worry, we’ll be home long before your c-section --”

“They changed the date of my c-section.”

_That_ gets Kurt’s full attention, and he props himself up a little more and looks Blaine directly in the eye. “To when?”

“Monday.”

“ _Monday_?”

“Yeah, Monday,” Blaine sighs. Again, he shifts, clearly trying to sit up a little, and Kurt takes a minute to help prop some pillows up behind his husband. It gives Kurt something to do, something to focus on, something to distract him. But Blaine knows that, knows _him_ , and he grabs hold of Kurt’s hands mid-fluff to center them both. “Kurt, this baby is going to be here on _Monday_ , and I need to know if the entity in our place is gone.” He pauses, then, cupping Kurt’s jaw with one of his hands to convey just how serious he is. Blaine uses his free hand to grab hold of one of Kurt’s and move it to rest over the swell of his belly. “I need to know if it’s safe to bring _our son_ home.”

The words hit Kurt hard, like an arrow plunged into his heart, and he suddenly has a very vivid flashback to his terrifying experience the night before, on the ground and back against a cabinet.

_My son is not your son._

“Yes,” Kurt gasps, too overwhelmed and stunned to care about the tears that spill onto his cheeks. “Yeah, she’s -- she’s gone. It’s safe.”

There’s a question in Blaine’s eyes, like he wants to believe but he’s not sure if he can. “Are you absolutely sure?”

Kurt remembers the cold, remembers the way the lights had flickered. He remembers the way she’d appeared and vanished, remembers her screams, remembers _Henry_. He remembers her touch, remembers the memories she’d shown him. He remembers the apartment flooded in light and the blood that had spilled over the edge of the bathtub and onto the floor, remembers feeling her gone from his bones.

“Yeah,” he breathes, pressing a kiss to Blaine’s palm. “I’m positive. I --” He exhales slowly and rests his forehead against the swell of Blaine’s belly, closing his eyes. “Monday, really? That’s two weeks early. Is everything okay? Are you --”

“Kurt,” Blaine says gently, pushing at Kurt’s shoulder to get Kurt to look at him again. “We’re okay. Are you sure _you_ are? I may not need you to tell me everything right now, but are you sure you don’t want to get some stuff off of your chest?”

Again, Kurt closes his eyes, tucking his chin against his chest. He hates this. He hates that there’s still so much boomeranging around inside of him even after Izzy is gone. This whole thing is supposed to be over but it’s _not_ , because even if Izzy is gone, she’s left enough of an impression that Kurt is left carrying her baggage around. He doesn’t realize he’s shivering until Blaine drapes one of the throw blankets around his shoulders. It’s that, oddly enough -- that one simple, intimate, caring gesture from his husband -- that makes Kurt realize that even though he’s determined to protect and nurture and take care of his husband and child, Blaine is here to do the same for him. He always has been. He always will be. It’s what he promised from the start.

Fearlessly and forever.

And maybe it’s okay if Kurt lets Blaine carry some of the baggage. Blaine can handle the responsibility. He’s been carrying their son since November. Blindly, he reaches for Blaine, and Blaine meets him halfway, taking Kurt’s hands in his own. “Henry was _her_ son,” Kurt begins, letting Blaine’s warmth anchor him. “He was taken from her just after he was born, and the people who took him from her killed her not long after.”

“ _Why_?”

Kurt’s eyes flutter open, meeting Blaine’s soft and sad expression, and he tries to blink away tears. “I don’t know,” Kurt admits thickly, sniffing a little. “But I just -- I’m just _tired_ , Blaine. It’s just so _much_. After losing my mom and Finn and everything that’s happened with my dad and you, I just -- it’s just too much to think about losing you and the baby and I --”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, come here,” Blaine soothes, tugging on Kurt’s hands to get Kurt to scoot closer for a hug. Kurt tucks his face against Blaine’s shoulder and tries to calm down a little. Blaine takes one of Kurt’s hands and moves it back down to his belly. Under his hand, Kurt feels the baby kick again, and he can’t help the smile that blossoms onto his face. “See?” Blaine laughs. “Even the baby’s telling you we’re okay.”

Kurt shifts, resting his cheek against Blaine’s shoulder. “I wasn’t, last night. I sort of… lost my temper trying to make my point.” Blaine raises an eyebrow questioningly, and as the baby kicks again under Kurt’s hand, Kurt flexes his fingers against Blaine’s stomach. “She didn’t understand that our son wasn’t _her_ son.”

Blaine presses soft lips to Kurt’s forehead. “I love you,” he sighs. “Thank you for taking care of us. Thank you for keeping your promise.” He pulls back a little, and Kurt can see the last vestiges of apprehension on Blaine’s face. “I’m assuming since she’s gone that you _did_ eventually get through to her?”

Kurt nods. “I did feel bad for her, but I just -- there was no other option than to try and get her to cross over. I wasn’t letting her stay. I wasn’t putting you in danger again. And at least this way she might’ve gotten to be with Henry again.” Blaine’s nose wrinkles with his smile. “What?”

“I just… never would’ve pegged you as the type of person to care about the feelings of a ghost,” Blaine quips, trying not to laugh.

Kurt rolls his eyes and lifts his head back up, but the remark makes him a little uncomfortable. Blaine notices, because he _always_ notices, because after more than a decade, they know still know each other ridiculously well. Blaine rubs at his back, trying to comfort him. “I understood how she felt, that’s all. But I wasn’t going to let her take our son from us the way Henry was taken from her.”

“She did already take the name,” Blaine sighs. “I mean -- we’re not naming the baby that anymore, right? I’m not really comfortable with it.”

“Me either,” Kurt agrees. “But we have time to think of other options -- oh god, no, we don’t, do we?” he groans. “We only have until Monday. I -- have you told anyone else?” he asks. “Family or anyone?”

“Some of them,” Blaine says. “I still have some calls to make, but I wanted our parents to know so they could rearrange some of their travel plans. Sam’s cutting his trip short so he can be here for the surgery on Monday.”

Affection blooms in Kurt’s chest. “He’s really taking this whole godfather thing seriously, isn’t he?”

“You have no idea,” Blaine laughs. He weaves his fingers together with Kurt’s over his baby bump and settles more comfortably against the pillows. “I’m sure we’ll think of a good name. Right now we should focus on getting the bathroom fixed so we can go home before Monday.” He pauses for a moment, brow wrinkling a little. “Light bulbs?”

Kurt colors a little and looks down at his lap. “She lost her temper a little, too.”

The baby kicks under their hands, sparking a smile on both of their faces. “Well,” Blaine huffs, shifting to try and get a little more comfortable, “looks like our son’s inherited yours.”

“Yeah,” Kurt breathes, unable to contain his joy at the sound of _our son_. “I guess he has.”

* * * * *

_Epilogue_

Andrew Anderson-Hummel is born on a warm early Monday morning in the middle of July.

Kurt finds himself very suddenly in love.

Kurt sacrifices a lot of sleep early on and stays up late changing diapers and preparing bottles and rocking their son back to sleep. He finds it comforting, oddly enough, to be able to hold and comfort their son at two in the morning. He supposes it isn’t _that_ odd, considering how Blaine makes him feel and how much better they both feel finding comfort in each other. Even when it’s hard and difficult and he often feels like he has no idea what he’s doing, it’s a simultaneously strange and wonderful feeling of security, being a parent.

Andy is a spot of light in apartment 143, and even though they’ve worked tirelessly to make their home safe for him, Kurt and Blaine both feel like it’s Andy who makes them feel safe, in the end.

And on the morning of their son’s first birthday, the flames that light and warm their home are both in celebration and memoriam.

Andy’s on his back on their mattress, nestled safely between Kurt’s legs. He giggles as Kurt buttons his onesie back up -- the one Blaine had tucked away in the office-turned-nursery for months -- after a diaper change. Kurt grins and tickles Andy’s feet with a peppering of kisses, delighted by the sound of his son’s laughter.

It’s a quiet morning with just the three of them, the calm before the weekend’s planned party with family and friends. Blaine joins them, a mug of coffee in each hand and a bag on his arm. “Someone’s in a good mood this morning.”

Kurt casts him an appreciative glance for the coffee (and the mug Kurt knows is for him, the one _he’d_ kept in the office-turned-nursery all those months) and nods toward the bag. “Someone brought supplies.”

Blaine grins and settles down opposite them, digging through the bag. “Socks for the gentleman,” he says, tossing the tiny garments to Kurt. “Juice cup, some snacks --” He pauses and unearths a large, tall candle and their long, thin lighter.

“Birthday candle?” Kurt laughs, wrestling Andy’s feet into the socks.

Blaine’s face dims a little, but he resolutely meets Kurt’s eyes when he answers. “Memorial candle,” he says quietly. “For Izzy.”

Kurt’s heart skips a beat at the mention of her name. He lifts Andy up off of the bed and cradles his son against his chest, needing the feeling of security. Andy babbles quietly into his ear, tiny palm touching Kurt’s jaw. “Can you -- I’m not against it, but can you tell me why you want to? Today?”

Blaine’s eyes linger on Andy for a moment before falling to his lap. “I just feel like she had to -- I don’t know, cross over? -- before we could bring Andy into the world. I feel like she moved on so he could move in. I know it sounds silly, but --”

“It’s not silly,” Kurt reassures him quietly. “I get it.”

Blaine looks back up at him, hope tinging his eyes. “You do?”

“Yeah, I do,” Kurt admits. “In a really strange and twisted way, I feel like being forced to deal with Izzy helped me realize that I could do this. I mean, I wanted a baby and I was happy when we found out you were pregnant with Andy, but there’s always that feeling of doubt, you know? You’re never really sure if you can actually do this -- be a parent. But after her? I knew I could.”

Blaine smiles warmly at him and scoots in close, resting a hand on Kurt’s knee. Andy reaches out for him, a garbled form of _Da_ chanted until Kurt hands him over to Blaine. Blaine hands Andy the juice cup he’d brought in before turning his attention back to Kurt. “I just… I wonder, you know? What if there was no one to mourn her? What if there was no one to remember her? She never really knew her son. Henry never knew her. And I just can’t even _imagine_ that. I can’t imagine Andy not being with us. I can’t imagine not knowing my son after carrying him around inside of me for nine months.”

Kurt can’t imagine it either, especially not from Blaine’s point of view. Their reasons for wanting to honor Izzy may be a little different, but they do have a common thread. Their experiences with Izzy have made them both even more appreciative of Andy and their ability to _be_ parents to him. And very suddenly, Kurt feels the onslaught of tears as he thinks about his family. He thinks about his mother and how she only got to be his parent for eight years. He thinks about Carole and how she lost her son after less than twenty. He thinks about how many times he’s come close to losing his father. And he thinks about how _lucky_ they are to have the family they do -- their parents and Cooper and Sam and Rachel and Santana -- and he can’t imagine having survived Izzy’s haunting without them, even if they hadn’t been all that involved. The fact that they have their family at all -- that their family is available and a part of not only their lives, but Andy’s as well -- is more than he suspects Izzy ever had.

Drawn to the light in his son’s eyes, Kurt reaches for the candle and lighter. “I’ll light this in the bathroom,” he says quietly, barely keeping himself from crying. He pushes himself off of the bed and makes to head into the bathroom, but Blaine’s hand wraps around his forearm as he passes by, holding him in place. Blaine arches up as much as he can with Andy in his arms, and Kurt leans down to meet him halfway for the kiss Blaine wants to bestow on him. And for the first time in a long time, Kurt almost feels outside of his own body, like he can see the picture of them all together.

And in that moment, Kurt finally realizes why he wanted a baby so badly. This is his _family_. Family has always been important to him, whether it’s blood or made, and even though Blaine and Andy make him feel so loved, it’s so much more than that.

They make Kurt feel _safe_.

In the bathroom, Kurt controls the flicker of a flame, and light fills apartment 143.

* * * * *


End file.
